Skating With Fang
by WingedQuill1
Summary: 2 years ago, the Flock saved the world, making them, and particularly Max, international heroes. Max held the world in the palm of her hand. Only one problem: She sacrificed her life for the world in the final battle. Or so the Flock thought...until she shows up at their school. Warning: T for language and mentions of rape in later chapters.
1. Memories

I pull my foot up behind me, then angle it straight up, locking my knee and pointing the toe to the ceiling, stretching. This is something I would have done with the Flock, but that's no longer an option. I am alone, and the simplest words remind me of that. Like now.

"You're incredibly flexible. You should ice skate." A male voice says from behind me.

"_Max, you should ice skate."_

"_You're hilarious." I snorted sarcastically, turning to face him and dropping the leg I had pulled above my head. He didn't let it fall, though. He grabbed my leg and wrapped it around his waist, pulling me close to him. I looked up to see him grinning down at me like an idiot, so pleased with himself. Even though he looked like a moron, I couldn't help but smile back, blushing. Knowing I was the only one who could make him smile like that. I leaned in to kiss him and the fireworks exploded, like they always did, but it wasn't a feeling you got used to. With Fang, every time was like my first time (except, you know, I didn't run away screaming anymore). I pressed against his body and deepened the kiss, hitching my other leg around his waist. He spun us around, but when we finally broke the kiss for breath and I relaxed my legs, he didn't let me down, just swung me into his arms, bridal-style, and marched to the door. I kicked at him, but I wasn't wearing shoes, and he just laughed it off. _

"_Where the hell are we going?" I demanded angrily._

"_Ice skating."_

"_Fuck you."_

"_You know you want to."_

"_You want me to."_

"_Well, who wouldn't?"_

_I rolled my eyes, but he just opened the door and carried me out into the (FREEZING COLD!) winter day. I shivered, and curled closer to him involuntarily._

"_Give me your jacket, it's really cold."_

"_Nope."_

"_Argh. My tombstone is going to read: Here lies a girl whose boyfriend was such a jackass he carried her out into a fucking blizzard in yoga pants and a tank top and let her freeze to death, even though he had a coat on."_

"_RIP."_

"_Right? It's Pathetic." _

"_Touché," he grinned, kissing me on the forehead._

"_Why can't you be more like Leonardo DiCaprio? He died so Rose could sit on a piece of wood."_

"_Maybe, but I have way better abs," he smirked._

_OK, he was right there, but I wasn't about to admit that. "They could have taken turns. He didn't have to die," I mused instead._

"_Yeah. It was a stupid movie. See, we agree on the important stuff."_

"_I really, really think me dying of hypothermia is more important than the probability of the plot of _Titanic _coming true. And it's a great movie!"_

"_I really, really think I don't care. And we're here." Gently, he set me down on a bench. I looked around, noticing for the first time the deserted pond stretched in front of us, covered with a thick layer of ice. Fang walked away, but returned a moment later, carrying two pairs of ice skates. He handed me one, and started putting his on. I pushed my feet into mine and laced them up, all the while wondering how the hell he had conjured them up. I swear to God, I'm dating Harry Potter._

_He stood up on his ice skates and smiled down at me. He reached out a hand, but I batted it away. Sexist pig! I can stand up on my –_

"_Oh, shit." I mumbled, looking up at him from where I was now sprawled on the ground. The jerk just laughed. _

"_Stand much?"_

"_Not on metal blades! How do you know how to do this anyway?"_

"_I took Nudge to that kid's birthday party at the rink in Virginia, remember?"_

"_Oh, yeah," I sighed, and pushed myself up, wavering for a second before he wrapped a strong arm around my waist._

"_Don't worry," he whispered, "You'll get the hang of it." He helped me walk to the edge of the pond. He stepped on before me, letting go of my waist and sliding backward, then edging into a flawless spin and, after turning a dizzyingly large number of times in about 2 seconds, sailing back to me like nothing had happened. My jaw disconnected from my body and slammed to the floor. He smirked, self-satisfied, then pressed two fingers under my chin and closed my mouth._

"_Catching snowflakes," he joked. He pulled me out onto the ice, and then let me go, pushing himself backward in front of me. Surprisingly, I didn't fall. I glided towards him gently, and he caught my wrists, pulling me to a standstill._

"_See?" Fang whispered, "You're a natural."_

_I hadn't anticipated liking ice skating. I hadn't anticipated being good at it. (Although, to be fair, I am Maximum Ride, badass-extraordinaire. Being good at things kinda comes with the territory, as long as there's no oven involved. Cough, cough.) But I really, really hadn't anticipated Fang looking so damn sexy while doing it. I mean, come on, it's ICE DANCING. It's not exactly the definition of macho. But somehow, his graceful, elegant strokes just made me love him even more. In fact, all of the above were true. To say I liked it would be an understatement. I loved the feeling of skating with Fang, so private, so intimate, yet so elegant and beautiful at the same time. Like we and our love were the only things that mattered in the world._

_We stayed on the ice for hours that day, and by the time the sun went down, we could have given any Olympian a run for their money. By the time we realized the Flock would be missing us and we had to go back, I was wearing his coat. I couldn't tell you when he'd put it around me, but that's Fang for you. He doesn't flaunt his kindness; in fact, just the opposite, he acts uninterested. But when he saw that I really was cold, he gave up his own jacket to wrap it around me, even though it left him freezing himself. It's the little things like this that made me love him. Miss him._

"You're hilarious," I snap, turning to face the boy, exactly as I had done two years ago. But he's not Fang, and so he doesn't catch my leg as I drop it. He doesn't pick me up. He doesn't carry me out to a secluded pond and teach me to ice skate. He sighs, and walks away. And it's all I can do not to break down in tears.


	2. Loss

**Hi people, **

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Duskingdawn: Thank you so much! Fnicksplanation coming right up… (Note to self: No. Just no. No. More. Puns.)**

**So that oneshot was part of a larger story that I had in my head but hadn't fully written down - I liked it and felt like it could kind of stand on its own, so I posted it individually because the larger story is pretty long, but you asked, so, let's give it a shot! ****J**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Flock, yada yada yada**

2 years ago, the Flock and I saved the world. You wouldn't think that what would get a girl back into badass-leader mode would be almost dying with her boyfriend in a giant tsunami. But then again, you probably wouldn't think that said girl had wings or gills, either, so you're just not all that good at this whole thinking thing.

For some reason, almost dying because I was unwilling to get out of a goddamn hammock clued me in to the fact that the way this was not really going the way it should. So after helping set the mutants back on their feet and supervising the rebuilding of Paradise colony, I gathered up the flock (yes, including the Dyldo, though that wasn't really my choice) and headed out for Operation: Save the World 2.0.

This time, for whatever reason, it worked. We battled through hundreds of Erasers/Flyboys/M-Geeks and bombed/hacked/just plain wrecked the shit out of dozens of Schools, in the process destroying all copies of the weirdo-creep disease that was supposed to kill all normal people. But since you're probably wondering why I'm not happily living in LaLaLand with Fang and the Flock right now, given that we won and all, let me enlighten you: I died.

Wait, before you freak out on me and start thinking this is from some ghost's perspective, I didn't really die. In the final battle, in Cancun, Mexico, I was fighting Omega, who had, because I have this irritating aversion to killing murderous creeps with my own hands, not actually died, and therefore not been cut out of the picture.

It was actually pretty epic, a lot like the scene at the end of Harry Potter where Harry yells a lot of insults at Voldemort, and Voldemort is just sitting there thinking, "What the hell?" and the entire population of Hogwarts and most of the Death Eaters are lining the edges with baited breath. The Flock's battle was over, every war was won, except that Omega still held one small vial in his hand that could destroy humanity. No biggie or anything.

1 year, 11 months ago:

_We circled around each other, Mr. Perfect-In-Every-Way-Except-My-Eyes-Can't-Track-Moving-Things and I, me with a knife in my right hand, him with the vial that, if unstoppered, would release pathogens that would destroy the entire human race in a matter of days. It was the only copy left of the disease the whack-head scientists had created, and it was in the hands of a robot-man without human morals or empathy. _Greeeeeat._ The only thing preventing him from opening it was the woman in my arms, the Director, Marian Janssen. Well, to be more specific, it was the knife I was holding to her throat._

_"__Max," she choked out in terror, "You're not a murderer."_

_"__I'd say the same to you, but then we'd both be lying. You have no idea what I'm capable of_,_ because you don't know the first thing about me. You don't understand what it is to love your family, so you'll never understand the lengths to which someone will go to protect them. If Omega-bot takes the cap off that bottle, make no mistake, I _will _kill you."_

_Cue pathetic, terrified gasp and warm water on my leg where hers was touching – Oh, my Jeb, that's not water! Holy shit, she peed! On me!_

_"__What are you, five?" I snarled, shoving her body apart from mine. "Actually, that would explain the whole 'thinking-you-control-the-human-race' thing."_

_She stared up at me in utter terror, and just when I thought we would be stuck in this stalemate until Galapagos Turtle-woman grew a shell, she whispered, "Okay."_

_"__OK, what?"_

_"__You release me, and Omega, you hand over the bottle."_

_I stared at her in utter shock. I had always known she didn't have what it took to be a martyr, but I don't think I had ever understood quite how pathetic she really was. In this moment, this woman gave up every dream she'd ever had for the planet because she individually, and no one else, was in danger. Of course, her "dream," the By-Half Plan, was utterly fucked up on way too many levels to count, but she had believed in it. That right there, not a good moment for my faith in humanity. Still, it was victory. In 10 words, this woman had ended the battle. I wrenched her to her feet from where she was lying in a pathetic, shaking heap on the ground, and walked towards the center of the circle Omega and I had been treading._

_Omega did the same, until we stood less than a foot apart. I could no longer hear breathing in the crowd behind us, as though every single person was holding in their breath at this one, final climax. My heart pounding and my grip on the Director shaking, I slowly relaxed my fingers from her arm, knife still pointed at her throat, and held out a hand for the bottle. Ever so slowly, Omega's fingers snaked out towards me until the bottle was in my grasp and he was holding only the clasp. _

_"__On 3," I whispered, "You let go, and I put down the knife."_

_"__One." Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed a sudden movement, but there were dozens of mutant warriors behind me, a little motion was to be expected._

_"__Two." A slight buzzing noise came from where I'd seen the motion. Omega's eye twitched toward the motion, and he blinked three times, in quick succession, but I ignored it. I could afford no immaterial distractions. For me, at this moment, only our tiny circle, Omega, the Director, and I could exist. _

_"__Thr-"_

_"__NOW!" A voice bellowed, and that was when my life went downhill._

_I subconsciously registered that the voice had not come from Marian Janssen and that, therefore, Marian Janssen was no longer in control of Omega. I dropped her, my hostage now a useless dead weight, as Omega pulled the cap off the bottle._

_Oh._

_Shit._

_I swear, there was a logical part of my brain analyzing possibilities, throwing together an awesome plan that involved, oh, I don't know, putting the cap back on? But I have this problem, which is that my body and my brain occasionally act independently of each other in situations where the girlio upstairs should really be calling the shots. So of course, instead of doing the smart thing, I made one of those snap decisions that I'm famous for and immediately plunged the fastest possible stopper onto the top of the bottle. Any ideas, people? Was it the cap? My hand? Omega's hand? The director's hand? Yeah, no. It was my mouth. As in, I wrapped my lips around the bottle and swallowed every drop of the liquid death._

_The disease wasn't ever meant to harm me. It was designed to kill normal people, to infect them contagiously left and right, but to skip over the mutant freaks. But no one really bargained on me _drinking_ an entire bottle full of the stuff. _

_The liquid burned my throat as it went down, and when it hit my stomach, my entire body seemed to erupt in fire. In the back of my mind, I heard screams and footsteps, but at the same time, my eyes rolled back in my head and my body began to shake. A moment later, I registered Fang's arms wrapping around me, his shaky voice chanting my name, begging me to wake up. More people screaming. Ambulance sirens. And then nothing._


	3. A New Kind of Family

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys, they mean so much! Also…**

**OK, so I get that the italicized flashbacks are probably really annoying, so I'm just not going to format them differently, I figure you'll still understand them. Also, this is the last set-up chapter, and I know it's long and maybe a little boring, I'm sorry, but I promise, they are necessary. The actual plot will start in Chap 4, so get excited!**

**Oh, the song lyric excerpts are: **

**_Piano Man, _****by Billy Joel**

**_All of Me_****, by John Legend**

**_Come Wake Me Up_****, by Rascal Flatts**

* * *

**1 year, 10 months, 28 days ago:**

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I was lying in a white hospital bed, alone in a completely empty, sterile, white room.

Horrific blend of antiseptic, blood, and animal smells? Check.

Sounds of children's sobs of pain? Check.

Overwhelming desire to gouge my own eyes out with a spork? Check!

Well, gee whiz, I must be at my favorite place in the whole damn world: The School.

Having memorized my surroundings, I closed my eyes, not wanting to give away that I was awake as I tried to get my bearings and remember what exactly had happened to lead to me lying in this bed alone. Finally, the memory flowed back, crystal clear, right back to the moment I drank the liquid death and collapsed.

However, before I could come to any conclusions about my current location, the door opened. I watched through lowered lashes as a guy in a white lab coat (fancy meeting him here!) walked in, his back to me, toting an IV table.

I waited until he was just inches from my body before sitting up and shoving him backward. Luckily I seemed to have regained almost all of my strength, because his body slammed to the floor with an: "Oof!"

I rolled off my bed onto him, hands pinning his arms down, and hissed, "I should have known Hell would be a science lab."

"Y-y-you're still a-a-alive: you're not in H-H-Hell." The guy stuttered pathetically, his face smashed against the carpet so I could barely understand him.

"What?" I demanded, flipping him over onto his back so we could talk better, still straddling him and pinning his arms and legs.

"The scientists saved you here-they had a copy of the antidote."

"WHAT?! Where am I? Where's Fang? Where's the Flock? Answer me, you bastard, before I cut off your dick with a bobby pi-"

Suddenly, I felt a shocking pain in my neck and collapsed, thoughts going hazy.

When I awoke again, I was handcuffed and tied to a wall in a different room, three white-lab-coated dudes standing before me, looking extremely smug. Two were holding Tazers, clearly just there as back-up, so I turned my attention solely to the other man standing right before me. Roland ter Borcht.

Ter Borcht smirked at me, stepping so close that I could feel his hot breath on my face, and said, "Oh, Mizz Ride, you haf no idea how satisvying dis is."

"And you haf no idea how much your breath stinks," I spat furiously, imitating his accent. He looked pissed off, but kept his cool, stepping back.

"You haf no vay to save yourself, do not bozzer vis trying to resist," he hissed, "Your patetic 'family' ssinks you haf died."

He clicked a small remote in his hand and the wall opposite me lit up with a life size image of the whole Flock sobbing and holding on to each other as a casket was lowered into the ground before a small golden plaque. I could just make out the words if I squinted:

Maximum Ride

1999-2014

Savior, Lover, Leader, Mother

Whatever the cost, We shall fight on the beaches, In the Hills, And in the streets; We shall never surrender.

The quote was from Winston Churchill, my idol. It was about determination, about courage, about saving the world, and therefore, it was meant to be about my death. It was meant to imply that my death was "brave" and "self-sacrificing." How charmingly naïve.

I was pulled from my reverie by ter Borcht's irritating accent as he flipped the switch to turn off the image. "You vould haf died, but we had a…use for you. At da moment, dis is de only remaining School, but if ve can reestablish ourselves, ve can begin de By-Half Plan again," he said with an ominous excitement. "You have proven yourself more useful than I had imagined, and ve are going to use you as a veapon."

"Again, with this shit?" I snarled, "Let me repeat, I'm not a human AK-47! I'm not gonna be your little bomb pigeon!"

"I thought you might react like dis," he smirked, "Vhich is vhy ve shall erase your memory."

"_What?!"_

"Oh, don't vorry, Miss Ride, ve vill not take your recollections visout your permission. Oh no, you vill give avay your memories off your own free vill!"

I made no effort to hide my shock and honest amusement. "Have you met me?" I demanded incredulously, "'Cause I follow orders like you go on diets: Unsuccessfully."

"You think you are very cute," he hissed.

"Not particularly. I'm nothing special in the looks department, but I'm something else when it comes to kicking German ass." I said pointedly.

"You did not let me finish. You vill sign away the memories off your own free vill, because ve vill torture you until you agree." He snarled, furious but also clearly excited. He wasn't giving me the choice in order to be humane; he just wanted to get sick satisfaction from breaking me, forcing me to beg him to destroy my soul. But I would not do it.

"Hear this now: you can torture me until the day I die, but I will not break, and I will not stop, and I will not let you take my memory. I am _the _Maximum Ride, and buddy, I'm invincible. So…Let's…Play." I leaned back against the wall, steeling myself for whatever torture was to come.

* * *

And come it did. Torture I cannot speak of, because it was far too painful, torture that destroyed me not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.

In the end, we were both wrong. No one was a victor in that little game.

Ter Borcht lost because I still know who I am, while his body is a charred pile of ashes. He threw everything he had at me, but in the end I still escaped by setting the last School in the world on fire, ter Borcht's dream finally burning up with him.

I lost, too, though. I lost because it has been one year and ten months since I left that place, but I am not with my family. I didn't lose my memory, but I did break. After what he did to me, I cannot go back to the Flock.

I can't be the leader, the mother, the friend, or the lover I had once been after the torture I underwent at the School. I can't fulfill their expectations, can't play those roles for them, for _him_, and it is better that I not try. It is better for everyone that they believe me dead.

When I first got out, I was poor, sick and hopeless. I saved two innocent 5 year old mutant twins when I set the place on fire, because otherwise they would have burned alive in their cages, but for the first weeks after escaping, I was unsure that any of us would survive anyway. We couldn't travel far because one of my wings was so broken that flying was out of the question.

Instead we wandered the streets of Tucson, Arizona, the city closest to the School from which we had escaped. I wore a short, reddish-brown man's wig that I'd found in the dumpster and pretended to be male because I had learned quickly on these streets that girls are much less intimidating to street-people than boys, and I didn't want to draw attention to us by getting in a fight. We stole from garbage cans for almost a month until we were practically starving. We slept in an abandoned, run-down ex-warehouse in the backstreets of the city where no one came. Or so we thought.

* * *

**1 year, 9 months ago:**

I kept watch almost all night most nights, meaning that I got basically no sleep, but that was the least of my worries. One face haunted my dreams when I did go to sleep, a face I couldn't bear to look upon, so being awake was better anyway. One hot night, while the twins slept, I crept outside, hoping to relieve the stifling heat.

Today, though, the alley outside the warehouse wasn't empty; there was a drug deal going on. I hid behind a pile of junk, watching. There were 3 older guys who appeared to be buying drugs from one girl who looked younger than me, and the guys didn't seem happy. It wasn't uncommon, and it wasn't my business, so I decided to stay out of it, until things started to go…wrong.

"You see this joint, ho?" The biggest of the buyers snarled.

"Y-ye-ye-" The girl, who looked Hispanic, stammered back in a Mexican accent.

"No. You don't. 'Cause it's so fucking _tiny_ you can't even see it, and I didn't pay for no tiny joints. So that's why we're gonna punish you, so yer brother will know we don't take no tiny shit, geddit?"

"Next time, I want something bigger than this little piece of crap." He slammed her to the ground, and then stood over her with a disgusting, manic grin on his face. Then his hands moved to his pants and he started to undo his zipper, which is when I decided this had gone far enough. Fists clenching, I stepped out of the shadows.

"On the bright side, though, it's still bigger than your dick," I growled from behind the disgusting, now half-naked addict, and then I drove my thumbs into the pressure points on his fat, fleshy neck. The man collapsed, and the other two guys stumbled back in horror, reaching behind them for their guns, but I was too fast for them. I grabbed both men's collars and dragged them towards me until my nose was mere inches from theirs. Stifling the gag reflex brought on by the smell of alcohol on the men's breath, I snarled, in the most masculine voice I could manage, "Are you messin' with my girl?"

"I-we-we didn't-_your _girl?"

"Let me tell you pricks something," I continued, "You fuck with my girl, you fuck with me. And you do _not_ want to fuck with me. Yer pal over there learned _that_ the hard way. You boys think you can get that through your thick skulls?

They nodded shakily, but I was on a roll. "Here, let me help," I snarled, and pulled their collars together, cracking their skulls against each other painfully.

"Now run home and jerk off alone, boys, you won't be laying a finger on any more girls tonight." I shoved them away, and they took off running as fast as their puny old pervert legs could go.

Then I turned to the girl and bent down, reaching out a hand to help her up. She took it shakily, looking at me with a mixture of awe, gratefulness, and fear. I smiled at her, and said in my normal voice, "Don't worry. I don't want to hurt you. I'm a girl, actually, the name's Ma-Maggie. Um, Maggie Rex."

Her eyes widened even further, and she managed to get out, "Why did you save me?"

I shrugged. "You looked like you could use some help. Here, let's get you home-well, do you have a home? Is there someone you can call? Your brother, he said?"

"I-yeah," she mumbled, and I helped her walk shakily to a phone booth a block away. A few minutes later, a guy a few years older than me drove up in a grimy black Jeep that looked like it had passed its prime sometime in the 1800s. He jumped out and thanked me profusely. We talked a bit, and when it became clear I had no home, but they did, he invited me to come stay with them as a thank you for saving his little sister. I woke up the twins, Candy and Cap, and the five of us drove back to their small shack on the edge of town.

* * *

It turned out that Jose and Sophie, the boy and girl I had met, were members of a small community of illegals (Mexican immigrants in the country without papers) that lived in the shadows of the city, some working on farms or as nannies for far less than minimum wage, some (like Jose) selling drugs, almost all, unfortunately, addicts. They had no legal standing in the community, and if they went to anyone for help, they'd be imprisoned or kicked out of the country.

We stayed with Sophie, Jose, and Jose's best friend, Ramon, for about 6 months while I got to know the community and learned to speak Spanish, which was most of their first or only language, pretty fluently (Jeb had given me a few lessons, and I'm a fast learner).

Eventually, they came to see me as something of a leader, and I helped José, Sophie, and Ramon, to get over their drug addictions (okay, helped is the wrong word. I locked my friends in separate rooms for a month and waited out the withdrawal symptoms). Once they were sober, others followed suit, and I was able to organize them. We couldn't legally form a union because they weren't here legally, but I helped unite them so that they could talk to employers and get better paid, more stable jobs that didn't involve buying or selling drugs.

It sounds, when I tell it like that, like I've moved on, doesn't it? It sounds like I've found new friends and a new way to help save some small portion of the world. It sounds like I no longer need the Flock. But none of that could be farther from the truth.

The smallest things remind me of them, of how desperately I love them and need them, how much _less_ I am without them by my side. Unfortunately, even if I decided to go back, it would not be an option.

As I discovered quickly, the entire immigrant community hates the Flock with a passion, because apparently, although I had no memory of it, when, seven years ago, when we first escaped from the School with Jeb, the Flock got into a fight with this group, and in an attempt to escape, Fang accidentally killed their last leader, who was beloved by all. And of course, because that's not bad enough, the leader was Jose's uncle, the man who had raised him and Sophie practically from birth. Because whoever's up there (God? Mother Nature? Um…Wikka?) apparently has an extremely personal vendetta against me. Go figure.

Most days, I can brush it out of my mind, pretend that Margaret Rex, mother to Candy and Cap, leader of the illegal aliens of Tucson, Arizona, is the only person I've ever been.

Some days, though, my need for my first family hits me hard.

* * *

6 months ago:

All day long, I'd been going through the motions of leading the group, going to meetings, making speeches, talking to the needy, signing shit, but for whatever reason, my heart hadn't been in it that day. I didn't want to be here in Tucson, surrounded by people yet alone, because these people who would definitely hate me and probably kill me if they knew my real identity. I wanted to be with the Flock. At 8 PM, I called an early night, sending the others home. I stayed, though, in the "conference room" we'd all been sitting in, really an abandoned warehouse that we used for leadership meetings.

Slowly, wanting to relax, I pulled my iPod from my pocket and placed it on the empty table before me, then set it to shuffle.

_BAD IDEA._

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday," the song began to play.

"The regular crowd shuffles in."

"There's an old man, sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin."

"He says, son can you play me a memory…"

Fang, Iggy and I all loved Billy Joel. It was the first music any of us had ever listened to because he was Jeb's all-time favorite artist.

A thousand memories rushed into my head, Jeb playing this song on his ancient record player, his pride and joy; Fang, Iggy and I waltzing around in a dance we'd choreographed at the age of 10; so many more.

I never forgot that dance. I could still perform it now, if I could bring myself to stand up from where I was slumped, head in hands, at the empty table, but instead I slammed my hand down on the next button, just wanting to forget for a moment, and the strains of a slower, sweeter song meandered from the iPod speakers.

"What would I do without your smart mouth?

"Drawing me in and you kickin' me out."

Finally, the tears that had been heating the edges of my eyes all day broke free and poured down my face like rain. This wasn't just any sweet love song, it was _our _song. The one Fang had hummed to me on the beach, the first time I didn't run away, and at Total's wedding, trying to show me what I meant to him because he knew that night he would be gone. The one whose lyrics he whispered in my ear late at night, when nightmares haunted me.

"'Cause all of me loves all of you,"

"I love your curves and all your edges,

"All your perfect imperfections…"

It was us, so clearly, so obviously, the way we weren't designed to love each other like Dylan had been, we weren't the perfect pair, we were perfect complements. We fought like demons because we loved each other so deeply, because only by acknowledging imperfection could we find perfection.

And with one sip from a poisoned cup, I had lost all of that.

I didn't want to listen to this shit. Furious now at my terrible luck, desperate for relief, I fumbled for the iPod yet again, finally tapping the button to skip the song.

"I can usually drink you right off of my mind, but I miss you tonight."

Finally, with a shuddering breath, I acknowledged defeat, dropping my head onto my arms on the table, deep sobs shaking my body as Rascal Flatts sang the story of my life.

"I can normally push you right out of my heart, but I'm too tired to fight."

As the song finally wound to a close with the narrator begging for his pain to just be a dream, I reached out a robotic hand for the remote to the television in the corner of the room. I turned it on as if in a trance and searched Cable until I found a celebrity gossip channel playing what I wanted - no, needed - to see. The Flock.

"-Favorite celebrities, the Flock, who are currently living in Arizona, attending Mahatma Gandhi High and Elementary Schools, appear to have had a fight," a too-peppy, too-blond newswoman said when I turned it on, clearly in the middle of a segment, and then the scene onscreen cut to a picture of my mom's old house.

When audio cut in, I heard a huge bellow of rage, and a black blur shot from a window into the woods.

Fang.

My whole body tightened at the sight of him, my stomach twisting and my heart beating faster. Then a smaller, pink and purple blur which I presumed to be Nudge shot out of an opposite window in the other direction. An instant later, Iggy flew out the window after Fang, slower, calling his name, clearly not knowing which direction to go, and Gazzy followed Nudge.

A moment later, Angel came running onto the yard, much closer to the camera. In a powerful, focused voice, she snarled, "Go. Away."

Suddenly, the image went black for a moment as the cameramuan followed her instructions which were, I'm sure, accompanied by telepathic "persuasion", and then the picture cut back to the announcer lady.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard Sophie's voice calling my "name."

"Maggie? Maggie! Where are you? It's midnight, you haven't come back to our room!"

"MAGS!" Finally, she saw me, and ran in, eyes going confusedly from me, slumped on the chair, to the television screen, to finally the almost-dried tear tracks on my cheeks, and she ran forward to wrap her arms around me.

"OMG, Maggie!" She yelped.

Somehow, this broke every pathetic remnant of a barrier I had left, and I whispered the four words that would get me thrown out of this gang with a bullet through my head.

"It's Max. Maximum Ride."

Her jaw dropped open, and she stared at me for a moment. When she was finally able to speak, she mumbled, "Thank you."

Now it was my turn to stare. "Um, for saving the world? You're welcome, I guess, but let me remind you, you hate me…?"

"Not for saving the world…I mean, thanks for that, too, I guess, but I meant for killing him. My uncle. I never told anyone this, but although he was like a father to Jose, I…" she paused, seeming uncomfortable, then continued: "Jose's male. I'm female."

"I know…?"

"He used to, um, you know…"

"Oh, God!"

I had a guess at what she was getting at, but I wasn't sure until she whispered, "Yeah. It's why I was so, you know, helpless when you first met me-it was a throwback and I kind of had a panic attack. I mean, I was little, I didn't really know what was happening, but when Jose was out, he would bring his friends over, and make me take off my clothes and-" tears were falling down her face, too, now, so I wrapped her in my arms and held her as she held me, both of us shaking, taking comfort in each other.

Finally, I whispered, "I understand."

"No you don't." She snapped, pulling away, "You know it hurts, but you don't know what it's like! You can't understand unless-"

I leaned away from her then, extricating my arms, and pulled her chin up to face me. "I know. You can't understand unless it's happened to you." I said forcefully, "And I _do_ understand."

Neither of us asked for any more information, but from that day forth, we were best friends.

* * *

Most of the time, now, I'm Dictator Max, because though I love Jose, Ramon, Sophie, Candy, and Cap, I have a city to run, and a huge population of addicts and homeless people to help, and employ.

Personally, I think we've come really far and that we should just stop trying to change things and work with what we have, but unfortunately, Jose disagrees.

* * *

3 days ago:

Sophie, the only human being in the world who knew who I was, sat beside me, Ramon and José across from us at the conference table, discussing strategy.

"Education." José said for, I kid you not, the billionth freaking time. "You took over this community, Mar, and you took away our drugs, and our guns, and you made us fucking pansies." José, I would like to point out, is gay. Question mark. "And I hated it at the time, but I admit, we're probably all better people now and blah, blah, blah, but if you want to help these people, you have to teach them so they can get themselves real jobs and maybe even citizenship."

Schools and I, as you may remember, do not get along well, and I still don't really understand the point of formal 'book-learning,' but Jose had been so insistent about it for so long that I agreed just to make him shut up.

"Fine," I finally muttered dejectedly, "Here's the deal: The six of us can attend a real school for two weeks so that I can get a taste of this "education" of which you speak so highly, and if, at the end of that time, I decide that school has hidden merits that I've been missing (which will not happen, I promise!), we will talk about doing something about it here."

Ramon's jaw dropped. "Oh my God," he breathed, "You gave in? I can't believe it! SHE GAVE IN!" He yells to the room at large, even though there are only the 4 of us here.

"Easy there, Rambo, don't make me change my mind," I snapped, "I'm only doing this 'cause José was giving me a migraine, but if you're gonna give me one anyway…"

"I will never speak again," he whispered reverently, and I smacked him.

"Alright, where are we going?" I said, and José rapidly pulled up a list on the projector of the best high schools in the state. I scanned through it, though I had no idea what I was looking for, hoping that something would pop out. And lo and behold, something did.

"Mahatma Gandhi High," I said assuredly, and they stared at me.

"Uh, why?" Ramon asked with a snort.

"I dunno. Something about the name just draws me, I guess." I really had no idea, no special connection to Gandhi, nothing, but it felt…right.

"Something about 'Mahatma Gandhi' just draws you? Is that a person or a disease?" Sophie demanded derisively.

"He's a famous guy, dumbass," José told his little sister, rolling his eyes. But when Sophie asked what he did to become famous and José had no idea, it was my turn to roll my eyes.

"He sat in front of a tank in a movie," I supplied (hey, I didn't say I was an expert!).

"What movie?" Ramon pressed.

"How to Get Your Ass Blown Up. In 3D!" I said sarcastically. Sophie and Ramon laughed, and even José, ever the stoic one, cracked a grin before rolling his eyes and putting together fake résumés and IDs to get us accepted.

* * *

So, together, all these things led me to where I am now, standing outside Mahatma Gandhi High, disguised as a "preppy" because Sophie thought that would call less attention to us, ready to enter. Welcome to hell, Max.

**A/N: OK, I want to apologize again for the lesser amount of action in these last two chapters. I'm sorry that there had to be so much introduction; I promise it was necessary, but it'll get more exciting/actually start having a plot from here on out! I don't know if you guys caught why Max was attracted to Mahatma Gandhi High, but if so, then you might have an idea of who we'll be meeting next chapter… ;)****  
**


	4. How it Began

**I'm so sorry, guys! I went to camp for a month, and then came back to school and before I knew it it had been 3 months! This will never happen again, I promise! Thanks so much for the reviews, though! Also, I ended up being wrong, I wasn't able to fit the meeting into this chapter, but I'm uploading both at once, so the meeting is in chapter 5.**

**MaximumRider99: Thanks, you're right! My bad, I was originally going to use an Elton John song and forgot to change the singer! Oops ;)**

Ramon, Candy, Cap, Jose, Sophie, and I sit in our ancient Jeep, Jose at the wheel, me riding shotgun, and the others squeezed illegally in the back, in the parking lot outside Mahatma Gandhi High. We're trying to get up the courage to go into the school: the twins, of course, have never been to a real school before, Jose, Sophie and Ramon all haven't been since elementary school in Mexico, and God knows I'm not exactly the poster child for the public education system. Yet here we are, about to enter one of the best high schools in Arizona.

Of course, it doesn't help my or the boys' mood that Sophie, in an effort to fit in and make teachers trust us, created entirely new wardrobes for us based on the "preppy" look. I agreed, recognizing the wisdom of this, on the conditions that whatever I wore would be loose enough to fight in if necessary, and that under absolutely no circumstances would I be wearing make-up.

Jose, who I've never before seen in anything but black, is wearing a blue polo with tan cargo shorts, and looks about ready to blow a gasket. Ramon's in something similarly preppy, and though it doesn't look _as_ out of place on him, he's definitely more of a leather-jacket-and-obscure-indie-band-tee kinda guy.

I, on the other hand, look…unique. Sophie didn't really know how to handle me, especially because I had some, um, caveats. First of all, after the torture by ter Borcht, my hands aren't exactly pretty to look at, so I wear gloves to hide them, and secondly, I always, _always_ wear Fang's black leather jacket.

Unfortunately, while black biker gloves and a black leather jacket go great with, say, intimidating street criminals and running an underground government, they are, apparently, not prime material for a preppy look. This led to a long, drawn-out argument which eventually culminated in me whacking Sophie in the head with her own curling iron (don't worry, it was off) after she kidnapped my jacket in the middle of the night and made some…alterations.

In other words, what was once a masculine reminder of Fang is now an oddly fuzzy, incomprehensible piece of cloth with random pockets protruding from weird places and an alarming amount of white lace.

Where she got white lace while living in an underground bunker with people who have never even used toothpaste is one of the great unsolved mysteries of life, but after living with Nudge for 12 years, I've learned that the secrets of the world of fashion are best left alone. Its gods are vindictive and pink.

In addition to the desecration she committed against Fang's jacket, Sophie also dressed me up in a frilly white blouse-thingy whose buttons I don't understand, and she had to arrange both it and the sweater for me so I didn't put them on upside down. I'm also wearing black pants which are still far too constricting for my taste and (oh, the horror!) high heeled boots. The gloves were handled by making them thin and skin-colored and, I guess, hoping no one notices.

Because everything I hope for always comes true. Not.

Finally, I put my hand on the doorknob, ready to step out, but before I can, Ramon hops out quickly from behind me and pulls my door open, gesturing for me to exit with a slight smile and blush. I stare at him for a minute, totally baffled, then step out and whack him over the head, muttering, 'Sexist pig.'

He mumbles something like, "Dunno why I bother," as the others step out as well. A moment later, I feel Candy's hand in mine, and I swing her up into my arms, then, still carrying her in my right arm, reach down to hold Cap's hand with my left.

The kids didn't have real names, just experiment numbers, so I named them based on Candy's sugar-sweet smile that could get anything from anyone and Cap's (short for the Crapper) digestive … issues. (**A/N: Yes, I know these may remind you of a certain two flock members. There's a reason for that) **They saw me as the mother they never had ever since I saved them from the burning building (I had set it on fire in the first place, but SHH! They're 5! They don't have to know that!).

"Okay!" I clap my hands together, and everyone looks at me. "Sophie's a sophomore, and I'm a junior. Jose and Ramon, you guys are seniors. I'll take the kids to kindergarten, and we'll meet by that tree for lunch to discuss. Capiche?"

"Caposh." I roll my eyes, and then we part ways.

* * *

Once I've signed all the papers to get the kids into school, I pull them into a corner and kneel in front of them.

"Let's go over some things. Now, what's a spoon?" Given where these kids spent their first 4 years of life, I legitimately have to worry about their familiarity with eating utensils. It's rather sad.

"Um, the round one."

"What's a fork?"

"The one with all the different pokey parts."

"And what's a knife?"

They look at each other nervously, uncertain.

"It's, um, the one you kill your food with?" I sigh. We're still working on it.

"Okay, sure, whatever. And most importantly, remember: Who am I?" I ask seriously.

"Margaret Rex!" They recite together.

"And who is Maximum Ride?"

"Not you!" They know who I am, of course, because they saw ter Borcht torturing me, but, being genetically engineered, they're brilliant and they understand the importance of this lie.

"Right. I love you guys. Have fun." I kiss their sweet brown curls, and then gently push them into the room with a smile. Finally, I rush away towards the high school as fast as I can while wearing these stupid death trap heels.

* * *

When I reach the main door, Sophie is waiting, and she takes me to the principal's office outside which Ramon and Jose are already waiting, going on and on the whole time about what she's learned about the layout of the school as though there's any possibility of me actually remembering a word of it.

When we finally get to the main office, I turn to the three of them and say, "Let me do the talking, guys. When you lie, you get all jumpy and spazzy like you're on crack."

"Actually," Sophie says thoughtfully, "When I'm on crack, I'm really calm and happy."

I stare at her, shake my head, and mutter sarcastically, "Glad to know you're so self-aware," then say, switching to Spanish just in case anyone can hear, "**Remember, you all are siblings."**

**"I still don't believe they'll buy that." **Ramon interjects, **"I look nothing like them!"**

I shake my head with a smirk and say, **"I think you underestimate the racism of the average white American."**

**"There's no way," **Jose said disbelievingly, but I just shake my head.

"Watch and learn, kiddo," I tell him, switching back to English with a smirk and shoving the door open. I introduce myself to the receptionist as Margaret Rex, and the three of them as Sophie, Ramon, and Jose Gonzales. Barely glancing up from her Omegle chat, whose details I definitely didn't want to know from the things she was mumbling, she waves us into the office to see the principal's assistant.

The three of them follow me into the office, most of which is filled by an _enormous_ desk, at which is seated an immensely fat, grumpy-looking, middle-aged white guy. He tries to ooze his body out of his seat to greet us, but seems to think better of it and sits back down heavily.

"Hello, sir," I start, feigning nervousness and deference, "We're new students here; we were told to talk to you."

He nods, and says, "And what're your names?"

"I'm Maggie Rex," I begin, "and these are my cousins, Sophie-"

"Oh, no, that's quite alright," he interrupts, "I can speak Spanish, you needn't translate."

"They speak English." I say, but he's paying no attention.

This time maneuvering his chair around the desk toward them instead of getting out of it, he sticks a fat, stubby hand out toward Jose and says very slowly and clearly, "Oh-la. Yo am Mr.-o Robert-o? Y too is-o?"

Jose stares at him blankly. Sophie stares at him blankly. I stare at him blankly. But Ramon gets this sneaky grin on his face that can only mean trouble and pushes in front of Jose, saying as he does, "Hola! Yo am-o Ramon-o. Tu is-o smart-o. Tu speak-o Español-o good-o."

The other three of us look at him in shock, sure that Mr.-o Robert-o, moron though he may be, will see through his farce, but instead he claps his hands together, delighted, and turns to me conspiratorially.

"I'm so glad to find one with half a brain that can speak his own damn language halfway decent. Most of these immigrant types don't seem to understand educated Spanish one bit. The last one told me, "Tu no puedes hablar español." As though that means anything in any language!"

"Ha," I say weakly, barely containing my laughter, "Ridiculous-o." Eventually we settle down, and because 'all this schmancy language stuff is exhausting,' Mr. Robert(-o) only ends up talking to me. I tell him our story; I've been homeschooled my whole life, but when my cousins' parents died (in the army, since from the photos above his desk, the guy's an ex-marine) and they came to live with us, my parents could no longer handle us all, so now we're going to school here.

He has screens up on the walls behind him with security cameras, and I commit the images to memory so I can match them up with areas of the school. Knowing which hallways and classrooms aren't monitored will be a definite asset.

* * *

After we're done, Sophie shows me to my locker. She waits, watching me carefully, almost nervously. I sense something off, but it's probably just my paranoia talking, so I ignore it. I put my backpack away and then shift in the heels, looking down at them pensively as I try to get comfortable.

Finally, she grins at me and asks, "Why do I get the feeling you're figuring out how to kill someone with those shoes?"

I smirk. "Guilty as charged."

"You are unbelievable." She laughs lightly.

"Hey, see it my way!" I protest, "These shoes are deadly. I almost broke my neck trying to come down from our apartment this morning-"

"Our apartment has an elevator!"

"I know; I used it!"

She shakes her head at me disbelievingly, seemingly speechless, but I continue with my logic: "So I figure, if these things are gonna kill _someone_, then I'd sure as hell rather it not be me." I was perfectly serious, but she bursts out laughing and grabs my arm, dragging me away from the locker quickly.

"You're so utterly weird, Max - oh, sorry - Mags. I'll take you to your class; I've got this school mostly figured out." She's pulling me very rapidly, even though we came very early, and still have half an hour before school starts. The halls are still empty; they don't normally let people in until 7:45. I'm stumbling in my heels, and I have no idea why she wants to move so quickly.

I rip my hand out of her iron grasp and say, "Cool it! I need to check my locker num-" the last syllable is lost on my lips as I pivot toward the lockers and read the name posted on the one two down from mine.

"Fang Ride".

My stomach flips upside down, then leaps into my mouth, collecting my heart and lungs along the way and leaving me gasping for breath and shaking.

"No. Nononononono," I mumble when I can speak, shaking my head in horror, "No. No! NO!"

"Shit," Sophie mumbles.

I turn to her, desperately fumbling for a solution that won't mean that I'll be in the same building as Fang in less than half an hour. "Maybe…maybe it's someone else! Ride's not tha-tha-that uncommon of a name, and if, you know, you were a teenage guy, and you-your last name was Ride, m-m-maybe you'd change your first name to-to-to _his _to be, you know, cool-"

"It's them," Sophie interrupts me, pointing back towards the lockers. My eyes follow her shaking finger and see, right next to Fang's locker, 'Iggy Ride'.

Well, then.

"Okay, we have to leave." I turn to her, squaring my shoulders. "You get the guys, I'll get the twins, and we'll find another school-"

"Max, we can't leave! Of the six of us, only Ramon_ might_ have an identity according to the US government, and even he doesn't know his social security number, _if it even exists. _Jose and I are illegal aliens, and you and Candy and Cap are, well, you know what you are. Jose and I spent literally _days_ hacking to get ourselves into this system. We can't just start that process over again. Besides, there are almost 3000 kids in this school, and only 3 of the Flock would be in high school. The chances of running into 3 in 3000, that's…wait…um, I don't know, but really bad odds!" _See? We don't belong here! She's 15 years old and she can't do basic arithmetic!_

Sophie opens her mouth to continue her extremely long-winded argument, but I hold up my hands and say with finality, "Look. I know it sucks, but there is no way I'm going to school with them. Even if I don't flip out, they'll recognize me. There are too many variables."

She pushes my hand away to try a different tack. "You're every girl in America's hero. What message would it send to them if you refused to go to an excellent school just because your ex goes here?"

I throw my hands up in the air and exclaim, "It wouldn't have to send a message! They think I'm dead!"

Finally, Sophie grabs my shoulders and whispers, "They may think that, Max, but _I_ don't. You're _my _hero. I've idolized you since I saw you fight my uncle when I was 8. I need you to be the Maximum Ride who saved me from those druggies, not the weepy girl who whines about her boyfriend and hangs out in hammocks while the world is being destroyed. Are you going to give up on _me_, Max?"

We look at each other for a very long time, until finally I open my mouth and croak out, "Damn you, Sophie Gonzales." With that, I turn away from her and march down the hallway. Once I hear her turn away, realizing that I want - no, _need _– to be alone, I stumble into the first bathroom I find, dropping my bag outside and practically falling to the ground as I slam open one of the stall doors and grab the toilet for support, retching into it. A thousand memories are flowing through my mind, images slamming against my consciousness with the force of freight trucks. _Every_ memory, _every _torture. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

But at the forefront of all of those images is one face, his obsidian eyes burning eternally into mine. Every other memory pales compared to them, and the feelings associated with the face that, two years later, I still dream of every single night.


	5. Reintroduced

I make it through the first four classes of the day in a kind of stupor, robotically answering the awkward, "Here's our new student, what's your name, tell us about yourself, class, why don't you say hello to her and I hope everyone will be very polite…blah, blah, blah" crap from each teacher, luckily not being called on, because I most definitely am paying no attention whatsoever to the lessons.

At lunch, all four of us sat in the cafeteria with a couple of preppy friends that Sophie and Ramon had managed to make (Jose's not a very outgoing person, and I was…well, not exactly in a meet-new-people mood.)

The conversation is completely bizarre, and I don't understand half the words they use. What's "ratchet"? What's "jenky"?

I tune out the tedious, asinine conversation, sitting at the edge of the group with my back against the tree until I hear, "Yeah, Fang Ride slept with Annelise Thomas this weekend. It's getting bad, she's the second one this month." My head jerks up so fast that I crack my neck, but, thank God, no one notices, because Jose has suddenly yelled with excitement, grinning like a Jack-O'Lantern.

"Ha!" He bellows, "I always knew he was a murdering bastard, but now he's a sexist piece of shit, too? He's probably the school player, huh? Just couldn't wait for Maximum Ride to die so he could start sleeping around-"

"What the hell?" says the prep who had spoken before, "Don't you know anything? It's not like that, moron-"

But Jose isn't listening. Instead, he turns to Ramon and me, crowing, "I always said he was a worthless asshole, but did any of you listen? Well, I mean, yeah, you hate him too, but this is just the poop icing on the shit cake of Fang Ride's personality-"

"Dude, seriously, you don't know the story." The guy continues, but I don't know what he says, because I'm standing up and stumbling away from the group, mumbling something about a lunch meeting as an excuse and running, as fast as my feet can carry me, away from those words, into the school. Then out, around the neighborhood, trusting my internal GPS to keep me nearby.

It feels like hours, but is probably only ten minutes. I hate the fact that I can't fly. I need the wind rushing against my face and booming in my ears, buffeting my wings from current to current. I need to go so fast I can't feel myself think, especially about a certain boy in black. One of the heels twist, almost twisting my ankle, so I grab both shoes and pull them off, then start sprinting again, now barefoot.

This is what I wanted, right? I wanted Fang-all of them-to move on, to get over me, to find someone else to…God, this is pathetic. I can't even pretend to _think _it.

What kind of girlfriend am I? Two years I've left him alone; I know I can never go back; I love him; I should want him to be happy, so why should I have the right to be furious if he wants to screw around? Why does bile rise in my throat at the very thought of him being happy with someone else? And, why, oh God, why, do I feel the irresistible urge to beat 'Annelise Thomas' to a freaking pulp?

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, (it doesn't work) I turn and head back to school. Checking my watch, I realize that I'm fifteen minutes late to class already, but this can be explained away because the school is huge and I'm new. Luckily, no one I know is in the next two periods with me, but I know from when we compared schedules this morning that I'll have to face all of them together in PE.

I am not looking forward to this.

* * *

I run into Sophie in the locker room, where we are both handed sets of gym clothes. Despite the repulsive smell and the seven names Sharpied into the back by people who owned these before me, I can't help but be relieved to get out of that ridiculous outfit and into shorts and sneakers.

As soon as we meet, Sophie launches into a rant about all the great people she's met here, particularly the "HAWT" junior guy that she's "TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH" even though she doesn't know his name. It takes her about five minutes to realize that my nods and mumbled 'uh-huhs' are even more half-hearted than usual, but then she says hesitantly, "Look, I'm sorry about the Fang thing. They were a little weirded out at lunch…I just made up a lie about you having an allergy or something, but I think they bought it, so that's good. Look, I know it may be tricky going to the same school as them, but you haven't had any classes with any of them, right?"

"Yeah," I agree grudgingly.

"And, like I said, there are 3000 people at this school and only about 30 or 40 in most classes." By this time, we're changed and she opens the door to the gym as she starts the next sentence. "So having any classes with them at all would just be-"

"Really _shitty_ luck," I finish quietly, gazing with terrified yet desperate eyes at the boy across the room, dressed all in black despite the dress code.

I am the addict who, halfway through rehab, was handed a needle, and forgot everything he had worked for. He is my drug, and I am helpless to escape him.

Crap.

I don't have any more time to watch him and wallow in self-pity, though, because the PE teacher calls everyone over, and I force myself to tear my gaze away from him as I walk over to the teacher, a tall, buff guy in his mid-thirties.

"Listen up, ya little twits," he growls out, "ya'll are fightin' today, like we've been practicing. No cheap shots, that means no head, no groin, you know the rules. We'll set up a tournament, and the last two will battle it out with everyone watching."

Fighting. That's good, whaling on a couple of morons will help me get my emotions out. Maybe I can even make it through the class without having a complete mental breakdown. As long as I just don't look at him.

For my first fight, as the new kid, I'm paired with some big, tough, jock dude. He's got enough muscle to rival Arnold Schwarzenegger. Steroid body-builder type, so many muscles it's not attractive anymore, although I'm sure he thinks it is. I'm sure they think he'll beat me easily. Well, have they got another think comin'.

We stand in the rink opposite each other, him circling me like a piece of meat, me examining my nails, pretending boredom. Wait, did I say pretending?

"It's a shame I gotta beat the shit outta you for school, 'cause you're a real looker. Hey, no hard feelings, alright?" The coach blows the whistle to signify the start of the match, but Ah-nold doesn't seem to notice.

"How about tonight, you and me-"

"Dude," I wave my hand in his face, trying to point out that the match has started, because it seems unfair to just beat him up without even giving the guy a fighting chance.

"-Can meet at my place, and have some _fun, _if ya know what I mean-"

"_Dude_," I say again, irritated now.

"I'll take it easy on you now, cause I wouldn't wanna wreck that pretty face for when we're doing the hankypank-" My fist sends him flying back against the rails and he lets out a muffled, "oof," then goes still. I observe him for a moment, making sure he's out cold, then dust off my hands, muttering "hankypanky?" in disbelief. I step out of the rink to see that the few kids who didn't have matches right now are all staring at me, open-mouthed.

"Well," I say with a smirk, "I did say 'dude.'"

My next three fights go similarly, and by the time my break rolls around in the fifth round of the Round Robin, I am so lost in the thrill of fighting that I've almost forgotten all about Fang. That is, until I grab a drink from the water fountain and step out to find myself staring at his fight from five feet away.

I am desperate to watch him; I can't tear my eyes away, but at the same time, I find myself slipping back into old habits, automatically analyzing his form and his hits. And I don't like what I see. Sophie sidles up next to me, watching too. She is quiet, which is extremely rare for her, until Fang throws a particularly sloppy punch and I snort derisively.

She turns to look at me and says, "Are you serious? Are you watching what I'm watching? That was insane, that punch just knocked that loser down like a whack-a-mole, and you _disapprove_? He's effing Chuck Norris to the power of bird-kid and you have a problem with the way he _fights? _He looks like freaking Karate Kid-"

"Exactly." I hiss, "He looks like Karate Kid. But he has wings, which are weight on his back, so he shouldn't look like Karate Kid, he shouldn't stand or punch like Karate Kid, and he really, really shouldn't kick like Karate Kid. He should be leaning forward, not back, to balance out the extra weight, make it work to his advantage. And _I _trained him, so he fucking _knows_ that, and he's choosing not to do it."

"Lean forward? Really? When you're fighting? But that would look so dorky-"

"Right." I cut her off again, "The girls sure wouldn't like it as much."

That's when the coach's whistle blows. All the other fights are over too. He counts up the wins and looks up, seeming surprised. "The finals will be," he announces slowly, "Fang Ride..." nobody even bothers to cheer. This was obviously expected. "and Maggie Rex!"

Shit. I should have seen this coming. Why didn't I purposefully lose a fight? This is where all that ridiculous competitiveness comes back to bite me in the ass.

My eyes widen in shock and horror, but my feet seem to move independently from my body, propelling me into the rink where Fang is waiting, leaning against a pole.

"Jacket." The first word he has said to me in two years. I am terrified, rooted to the spot, because in that one word, my facade has come crashing down. He recognizes the jacket. He knows who I am.

And then, slowly, I recognize that his lips are moving again, and it pierces my consciousness that he's saying 'zipper', and he means I have to take off the jacket because it has a zipper and that's not allowed. He doesn't know who I am, and I should be relieved, because THANK GOD, I am still Margaret Rex, and the lie is still here and Maximum Ride is dead, but I'm not. I want to curl up in a ball and cry, because even though he never, ever can, I want him to know that it's me.

But I don't. Instead I pull the jacket that I always, _always _wear tighter around me, and say tensely, "No can do."

He shrugs, and steps down, holding out his hand to the coach for the trophy. _Okay, _he is saying silently_, then you surrender._

But something inside me wakes back up then, something angry and competitive, and I realize that refusing to fight _Fang Ride_ because I won't take off _Fang Ride's _jacket is quite possibly the dumbest thing anyone in the bird or human race has done since that pigeon on YouTube flew into a window. Which was, admittedly, not that long ago. But either way, I take off my jacket and throw it at Sophie, not even looking behind me.

She lets out a low whistle as I get into fighting stance and he slowly turns around. He too gets into stance, but it's not the right stance, it's the idiotic Karate Kid thing he's been doing all day, and the blatant showing-off, the utter lack of form, irritates me so much that without thinking I hiss, "Stand right, asshole. If I were an Eraser, you'd be dead."

"There are no more Erasers." Famous last words. It's almost exactly what I said in the last interview we gave before I died. But because I'm me, and I respond to sad emotions by getting angry, now suddenly I'm furious again.

I want to say whatever I can to hurt him, just to prove that I still have that power, though he may no longer care about me, though he may have moved on to banging random redheads (I don't know who Annelise Thomas is, for the record. I've never seen her. But in my head, she's a redhead). At least I can still hurt him.

So I hiss, "You know, that sounds familiar. Wasn't that what your _girlfriend_ said right before she kicked the bucket?" His face contorts and he lunges towards me, mad with rage, but I was right, his form was terrible. His weight is off-balance so the punch is so weak it's almost funny, and I knock his fist away, then grab his arm and twist it behind his back, stepping towards him and hissing in his ear, "Didn't your _mother_ teach you not to hit girls?" Another sore spot.

He snarls and rips his arm free of my grip, swinging toward me in a two-fisted punch, but I duck easily and roundhouse kick him in the chest. He stumbles back a few feet, but quickly rights himself, this time, I notice with a grim sense of satisfaction, standing properly. Soon I'm lost in a flurry of kicks and punches. In all these months of knocking people out cold with one kick and breaking punching bags off walls, I've forgotten how exhilarating it is to fight a real opponent.

But he's weaker than usual, he's not used to fighting properly, so with one final scissor kick I send him to the ground on his ass. I stride up to him and place my foot on his chest, close to his neck, holding him down. "Guess not," I say with a shrug, "So I'll have to do it. Don't hit girls, babe. We. Hit. Back." Then I turn on my heel, shoving off his chest harder than necessary with my other foot as I stride toward the exit of the gym, the awed students clearing a path for me.

The dramatic exit has two purposes; first, it looks fucking badass. And second, this way, no one will see the tears spilling onto my cheeks.

The class gasps and whispers, and I hear Jose and Ramon's uncertain footsteps as they follow me slowly, not understanding what just happened. Then Sophie's, quicker, pattering up to me. She holds out the sweater with a shaking hand and says, "Um, do you...do you want..."

"Throw it away." I say quietly, and she does, her face breaking out into a grin.

"Oh yeah!" She yells, "Girl power!" And with that, she links her arm in mine and lets me guide her out of the gym.

* * *

I could get a shit-ton of money for this sweater on Ebay. That's the excuse I give myself when I get a hall pass to go to the bathroom an hour later and sneak back into the gym to pull the jacket out of the trash.

I definitely only want it for the money.

* * *

**3rd person POV**

"Is Fang gonna call Annelise?"

Iggy raised his eyebrows disbelievingly at his girlfriend on his lap. "Don't play this game."

"Don't you feel bad for her? He told her he loved her."

"He told her he loved _Her_."

"I love _you._ That's what he said. I love _you._"

"Yeah. 'I love _you_…Max.' That's what he said, and you know it, and I know it, and Annelise knows it. And she knew it when she bleached her hair and put in color contacts and followed the paparazzi to the bar he was in and waited to talk to him until he was too drunk to think and pretended to be Max and took him into a back room and stripped naked. So no, I don't feel bad for her."

"It is just like you to defend him! He said he loved her and fucked her and now he doesn't even call her, and you take _his _side?"

"I don't take his side. I think he's an asshole and an idiot who needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that the rest of us miss her too. She left him in charge and he needs to wake up and lead, instead of wallow in self pity and let himself be taken advantage of."

"There you go again! "Taken advantage of," like Annie's the one at fault for him having sex with her!"

"He doesn't want sex! He's not in it for sex! That's her, that's them, that's all the stupid girls because they don't want to say they kissed Fang Ride, they want to say they slept with Fang Ride. And they're too stupid to take birth control, because believe it or not, they want to give birth to his baby. So no, I don't feel bad for him or for them. You know who I feel bad for? I feel bad for me, because you know what I have to do the next morning, when he's too hung over to think, let alone get out of bed?"

He'd never really talked to anyone about it before, and it drove him crazy how obnoxious Leah was being, so his voice started rising in fury and desperation. "I get up and go to CVS and buy the morning after pill, and then I have to go find them at school, which is fucking _hard_, 'cause I'm blind and half the time I've never met them. Then I argue with them until I get them to agree to take it, because they may be stupid, but they're not stupid enough to want a baby with one wing."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"How many girls has he…you know…" She began in a small voice.

"Three."

"That's it? I thought it was more."

"Everyone does. That's the narrative in the press, I guess. I mean…he tries not to do it. It only happens when something triggers her and he just can't…handle living, I guess. When he goes to get drunk…I think he knows a girl will show up. He wants to think it's her, for just a night, to believe she's alive. But he doesn't want to have sex, he always feels terrible about that part. I think he believes he can control himself, but he's wrong."

"Why not stay home, then?"

"In front of the kids? Are you fucking crazy? That's the one smart decision he makes. Thank god he has enough self control to take his binges out of this house, because we're already fucked up enough as it is."

There was a long silence. Leah didn't know quite how to respond to any of it. Finally, feeling that she had to say something, she blurted, "Don't you feel bad for Max?"

Iggy snorted, but there was no humor in it. "Max? Looking down from Heaven or Hell or wherever it is you go when you save the world and then kill yourself, watching her ex screw around? Nope. She made us, she made us followers. She created a family that can't exist without her."

"That's not true! Fang knew how to exist on his own. He knew how to leave. Twice."

Another humorless laugh. "Yeah, he knew how to leave. And then coming crawling back and grovel on his hands and knees for her to take him back. The books don't tell you this, it doesn't fit with the story, but she beat the _shit _out of him when he came back. God dammit, I love her to death. I miss her every damn day, she was the most amazing person I've ever known. But she only taught us one thing, and that was how to be a damn good flock of fucking sheep, and then she went and shot the shepherd, and left us to pick up the pieces."

**Review? **


	6. Maxinese

**A/N: Thank you guys so much, y'all are amazing! Sorry about the wait, I've been working on this chapter for a while and...shmerr. Not my best, IMHO, but tell me whatcha think. If I get 40 reviews, I'll post the next chapter Friday!**

**DAY 2:**

I am done thinking about him. I am done talking about him. I am done looking at him. I am _done_. _Fucking. Up. _I am not here to reunite with the Flock, I am here to learn about the merits of real school, and that can't be accomplished if I can't stop lamenting the loss of my old life, so I am no longer Maximum Ride, I am Maggie Rex.

Thank God.

* * *

It took me about 13 seconds to realize that this whole "school" shebang would be way, way simpler if we had a key to get wherever we wanted, whenever we wanted, especially if someone found us out and we had to escape. The pros to this plan: There is exactly such a key. The cons: It's only accessible by the teachers.

That's where I come in.

I wait until 3rd period, where I've heard via the grapevine that there's a male, relatively young-ish sub; exactly the demographic I'm looking for. The classes are all different today because this school is on some weird blocked schedule, so I'm a bit confused, but I make it to class alright. After class, I hang back until everyone else has left. Ramon, who's in the class with me, waits outside, peeking sneakily through the door as I approach the teacher's desk shyly, letting the reddish hair from the wig fall in my face a little and peeking out at the teacher from beneath my lashes to give the appearance of innocence. As if a redhead could ever be innocent. Ha.

"Um, sir?"

He looks up from his papers at my face, then down again. But not quite as far down this time, if you get my drift. Pig. I bite my tongue and pull my fists in tightly to my sides and say, as sweetly as I can manage under the circumstances, "Silly me, I left my bag in the art wing, and now the door's locked. You don't think you could, like, let me borrow the key, do you?" I twirl my hair around my finger, trying to look ditzy while also strategically covering my chest, which he has not looked awayfrom the_ entire time I've been talking._

"You know, hon, I'm not really allowed to just give that to students," he drawls, "I could accompany you…"

And be alone with him? In a locked wing of the school where there are no eyewitnesses? Can I get a hell, nah?

"I mean, I guess," I say, ducking my head as if embarrassed, "But…the bag is for…ya know…" I lean towards him conspiratorially and stage-whisper, "my _period_."

The speed with which he whips the keys off his neck and shoves them at me has to be seen to be believed. I have to lean towards him to take them, and, surprise, surprise! The mention of my period has not managed to make the asshole any less interested in inspecting my cleavage. Knock his lights out or maintain our cover? Decisions, decisions. I manage to hold it in, though (because contrary to popular belief I actually do have self-control…just not when it comes to Fang), and turn on my heel, key in hand. At least after that little display, I doubt he'll even remember the existence of the key, much less that I took it. Which is good, 'cause he ain't getting it back any time soon.

When I exit the room, Ramon scowls at me, so I stick out my tongue at him, then walk away, rolling my eyes.

"You know, you're a lot of things, Maggie, but I never thought you were easy," he says.

"Excuse me?" I say without turning around, "I got the key, it's not my fault he's a sexist pig."

"You didn't exactly seem to hate the attention," he grumbles, and I whip my head around to glare at him.

"Who stuck a fishing rod up your ass, mate, and what are they tryna find up there?" I snap back, "'Cause if it's a brain, they're shit outta luck."

He rolls his eyes, and mutters, "Whatever, just forget it."

"Fine," I say back, "I will." _Weirdo._

* * *

"What on _Earth_ is the meaning of this nonsense?" I look down at the page where the Spanish teacher's gnarly finger is pointing, and realize that I've been writing this essay in the strange, unique street slang peculiar to the Navajo immigrant community, with Spanish from everywhere from Spain to Mexico to Argentina, not to mention a little Portuguese and a few French words mixed in as well.

And then there's the small matter that about 85% of my Spanish vocabulary entirely consists of swear words. Unfortunately, none of these things can be explained to Professor Pinchy-Face without giving up our ruse, so instead I stall for time.

"I'm inventing my own language!" I smile brightly at her. "Maxinese!"

Of course, because she's a total tight-ass, she doesn't smile back. Instead, she snaps, "It doesn't count if only one person speaks it."

Although I'm used to punching people like this, I'm on a mission. I have a job. I'm going to look up, smile, apologize, and move on. Look up. Smile. Apologize. Move on.

Look up. Check.

Smile. Check.

Apolo-

"Yeah? Is that what the operator said when she heard you having phone sex?" Because, of course, my mouth and my brain are not actually connected entities. There's dead silence in the room for about three seconds, and then the entire classroom explodes with laughter.

* * *

"So…you just wrecked our entire 'preppy' cover in one sentence. Nice going, Maggie. Now we have to find a whole new school and-"

"Well…" I ponder, pulling out my key ring and spinning it absentmindedly around my finger with a smirk growing on my face, "We could, but I went to so much work to get this, ya know…"

"You got the master key? How the hell-"

"Lower your voice, dumbass!" I snap nervously, glancing around, but no one noticed.

"So we're not leaving?"

"After I got this baby? Please, we could be hated by every teacher and student in this place, and we'd still run the school with this little piece of metal."

"Thank the Lord!" José hollers, "Need black clothes. Now."

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "Soph, tell your brother that if he's gonna act like Fang Ride, he'd better start looking like Fang Ride, 'cause otherwise he's just wasting my time."

"I am NOTHING like Fang Ride." Jose snarls angrily, happy mood dropping suddenly.

"Oh, I know. The two-pack gave that away a _long _time ago." I shoot back with a snort.

"We hate him. He's a murdering bastard. _Remember_?" Jose growls.

"Sure, but his abs aren't."

"I'll drink to that," Sophie says with a grin.

"You will drink to nothing," I snap angrily. She should not joke about getting drunk after having been a fifteen-year-old alcoholic! That is the reason I'm annoyed! It has nothing to do with the fact that she thinks Fang is hot…Nope. Nothing. It's all good in LaLaLand.

* * *

"Look, are you OK?" Sophie whispers to me a few periods later, as we stand in line for lunch.

"Fine."

"But, I mean, what with your Flock being here and all, that's gotta be really hard, and I just want you to know that you can talk to me and-"

"I'm fine."

"I just…you know, maybe you should…I don't think you can live without the Flock!" She blurted.

Finally I turn to her, letting nothing slip through my poker face. "I never said I could live without them, Sophie, I said I was going to."

She stares at me in disbelief for a second, and then snaps, "OK, _that_ is Maxinese!"

"Huh? Sophie, Maxinese isn't a real language," I say in a mocking stage whisper, "I made it up, to get an obnoxious teacher off my back."

"No," she says, waving her hand dismissively, "I know you made that up. That's not Maxinese. Maxinese is when you just spew tough-girl _bullshit_ that makes no goddam sense but you act like it's a philosophy a human being can live by." She grabs a banana with unnecessary force and scoops cottage cheese like she's trying to throttle the ladle, which results in the stuff splashing all over her shirt, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Uh, excuse me," I say snarkily, "Maximum Ride does not _bullshit_." I'm actually rather impressed with myself for keeping a straight face. She stares at me like I'm a mental patient for one…two…three… and then cracks up.

"What, do you have no faith in me?"

"You once told…" she gasps through the peals of laughter, "the pizza guy...that Ramon's mom…had fucked a gorilla…and he was the offspring, which is why he was…so…hairy. And…he…believed you!"

I can't stop the smirk from meandering onto my face at that particular memory.

She continues, "But seriously, you just go around claiming to be totally tough, and like, I know you are, like, really, really, really badass and everything, but nobody can be strong all the time and you say things like that, and it's just obviously such total nonsense, and I hate how you never let me in! Max, you know, you have to let somebody in, 'cause I saw on Oprah that if you hold all your pain inside, one day it'll all explode-oh, wait, that was Seinfeld. But whatever! You have to…"

And then her voice goes out of focus, because I see Him. He's sitting in a corner, dressed, as always, in all black, but there are girls sitting with him, at least one of whom is clearly hitting on him, and, of course, because the universe has not done enough shit to me, she has red hair. Just shoot me now. She nudges him, and my grip on the tray tightens as her fingers touch his hand. He moves his hand away and glares at her.

"Get out."

"Ni-Fangy, it's been two whole years. You've GOT to try, like, branching out. With, like, me. Rocky's having this HUGE party on Friday, sooooo…?"

Suddenly, I can't stand it anymore. I hear him saying no, but I'm too far gone to be satisfied with the girl just being rejected. I pick up my tray and walk towards their table, and just as I reach the girl, I stumble intentionally, dumping my entire meal (spaghetti and meatballs) on her perfectly matching blouse and mini (like, really, really, are-we-sure-that's-not-just-really-frilly-underwear-mini)-skirt.

"Oh my God!" she shrieks, leaping up, "YOU-"

"Karma's a bitch, huh?" I interrupt with sarcastic sympathy.

"How dare you? I'm the Queen of this school! I will make your life living hell." She hisses.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, stumbling back in mock horror, "I had no idea! Here, I'll help clean it up…" I bend down and pick up some of the spaghetti that dropped on the ground, then suddenly straighten up brightly.

"Oh! You know why I didn't realize you were the Queen? You didn't have your crown." I say sweetly, dropping the spaghetti from the ground on her perfectly coiffed curls.

She gasps like a fish out of water, unable to breathe or speak. I can't even look at Fang, so clinging to my now empty tray as though it's my only link to life, I walk away, without looking back at the girl now hyperventilating with anger.

As I do, Sophie follows me, clapping me on the back with a grin and saying quietly, "You know, for someone who told me _yesterday_ that you're 'moving on' and 'want him to be happy,' you sure are aggressively jealous."

"Of course I want him to be happy. Just with the right girl, and _she _was not it." I say matter-of-factly, amazed that I'm able to keep my voice so stable.

"The right girl, huh? So…you?"

I glare at her, about to retort, but as I open my mouth, I'm interrupted by the red-head's squeal.

"That's right, walk away," she squeaks in what is, I guess, supposed to be a threatening tone, "But I'll get you! I'll destroy you!" I'm snorting scornfully when she adds, "and your stupid wetback friend!" At that, both Sophie and I spin towards her, disbelieving looks on our faces.

"Whore say what now?" I snarl, furiously balling my fists.

Sophie puts a restraining hand on my arm and snarls sarcastically, "On second thought, let me rephrase: slutty-ass bitch ain't worth wasting perfectly good spaghetti on."

I relax, grin, and throw an arm over Sophie's shoulders, then look down at her self-satisfied smirk. "Now that, my friend, is Maxinese," I say, and with that, we walk away, smiles on both our faces.

Maybe, just maybe, life goes on.

**A/N: Yay? Nay? Somewhere in between? The review button is lonely down there...**


	7. Gone

**A/N: Thank you guys so much, your reviews were awesome! I'm actually posting this chapter on time, which is really new for me ;) I should do this whole "deadline" shebang more often. The first half of this chapter is a little...different. I wanted to get Fang's perspective in, as well, and this is important for Sophie's development too, as you'll see later... Anyway, tada!**

**Guest: Much though the couple name amuses me (in fact, Ramon goes by Rambo, so...Mambo ;D) I'm a FAX girl all the way.**

**And yes, for those of you that asked, there will definitely be Fax. But be patient. Max is a stubborn girl, she's not going to give up too easily.**

**3rd Person POV**

**1 year, 10 months, 3 weeks ago (the day of the burial)****：**

It wasn't her that they'd put in the ground.

She wasn't gone.

She couldn't be gone.

She was what kept the world on its axis, and if she was gone, then how the hell was anyone still standing up and walking around?

When Fang walked in the door, she would be standing there, one eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly to the side, right hip jutted out, hand on it cockily, like she always was when she knew she was right. So, basically, all the time.

She'd have some rude comment ready to throw at him for crying like some baby at that funeral, and he'd push past her and smirk, but she'd wrap her arms around him and kiss him and he'd get distracted from pretending he didn't care and kiss her back and hold her tight.

And then Nudge would yell from the kitchen where the kids had gone while he wasn't paying attention, as happened a lot when Max was around. Max would pull away and swear under her breath, and then bury her head in his chest, embarrassed.

He would be confused, but he'd wrap an arm around her waist and drag her into the kitchen, which would be, of course, completely destroyed, because she would've tried to bake for them as a surprise, but it wouldn't work, because she's Max, and she doesn't belong in the kitchen.

So he was smiling as he pulled out his keys and fumbled with the lock. He was smiling as he looked back at the other kids and their horrified expressions, and it just made him smile wider, because they were silly, and they didn't understand that she was just playing a game, but that would just make the surprise better, so he wouldn't give her away. He was smiling as he opened the door and looked into the house, but she wasn't there in the hall.

But that was OK. She was hiding. She was playing a game. "Max!" He called out, "I know you're in there! You can't hide from me!"

He heard Nudge gasp behind him and start to cry again, and Iggy yell at him to stop, but they just didn't understand. He peered around the corner, into the living room, and the dining room. He walked into the kitchen (still intact) and peered under the table.

He was getting angry now. The game was funny for a while, but she shouldn't hide like this! "MAX!" He yelled, furious, "Come out!"

She didn't.

**Ten hours later:**

He didn't wake up so much as come out of a coma. The whole house was completely silent, including the family room, on whose couch he was lying. He had figured that was where she would try to sneak back in, and he'd get her, but when he jerked awake, it wasn't to see her. The room was empty and dark, and all of a sudden it hit him like a ton of bricks: so was he.

Because she was gone.

She wasn't hiding, or playing games. She was dead. Dead and buried. And the cry of pain that ripped out of his throat at this realization was so rough and so raw that every person in the house bolted awake, and the dried tear tracks on every cheek got new use as they tried and failed to block out the tortured screams that went on until his underused voice finally broke to match the rest of him.

**1 year, 9 months, 3 weeks ago:**

They didn't speak to each other about it. Fang hadn't spoken a word since the day she was put in the ground, actually – not in their presence, anyway. But somehow it was understood that they were all going to enter her room together, for the first time since her death, on the one month anniversary.

Angel pushed the door open, trembling slightly, the others standing behind her, hesitant. She walked in and then gasped suddenly, springing towards the bed. The others, who had been standing at the threshold, refusing to enter the sacred room, rushed in after her, filled for half a second with an insane hope that Max was here somehow, waiting for them, wondering why they'd taken so long to find her.

She wasn't. But what they found was almost as strange. Sitting on Max's bed, covered in dust now, for they had been sitting here this whole month, were seven envelopes. Angel picked them up, with trembling hands, and rifled through them feverishly. Each was addressed to a different member of the Flock, then one for Dylan, and one for the Martinez', all handwritten in Max's scrawl. It was neater, more careful writing than was normal for her, although some of the 'a's were still backward because she never could get the hang of them.

Angel handed them out without speaking a word. Iggy almost asked what was going on, but couldn't bring himself to break the impenetrable silence. Besides, he figured it out once Angel put the envelope in his hand.

They all stayed in the room for a moment, hands shaking, tears building in eyes, none sure quite what to do, waiting for some kind of sign. And then Fang turned and left the room, walked the three steps down the hall to his own, and closed the door.

Well, it was kind of a sign.

**1 year ago:**

Some things had gotten better with time.

They could all do their own laundry now. So that was good.

They got up and some of the chores got done, if only because Mrs. Martinez did them. Ella and Nudge had become really good friends. They had all the money they could ever need from insurance and the lawsuit against the rich scientists and from their share of the profits of Itex that had been divided among the mutants when the company was forced to disband. So that was good.

They still set ten plates at the table. One for each of them. Even the dog. Even the dead.

They all ate together, but they didn't talk much. Fang never spoke, and when they tried to start a conversation, they always got the sense he was judging them, hating them for having lives and friends when she couldn't. They were right, as it happened.

"So," Nudge began quietly, "We learned how to do long division today. Did you know division has, like, subtraction, and multiplication, too? That's just so, like, OMG! And I was just thinking about how cool it is that, you know, we get to go to school and learn all this stuff, and I'm really grateful, ya know?"

_Grateful. Yeah, right. _Fang thought, _As if you know what that means. Grateful to _school_, for teaching you random, useless shit like long division. But could you muster a single "thanks" when She spent hours and hours every night teaching you to read? Of course no-_

"SHUT UP!" Angel screamed, standing up and throwing her napkin down on the table, fire in her eyes as she glared at Fang. "Everyone loves her just as much as you do. Everyone at this table misses her every fucking day."

"You sure as hell don't show it." He muttered.

At that, Nudge, who, like the others, had been baffled at first by Angel's outburst, stood up as well, and yelled back, "Just because our lives didn't end when hers did doesn't mean she didn't mean as much to us. She would've wanted us all to move on." Iggy and Gazzy nodded, but Fang stood up furiously as well, so quickly that he knocked his chair backward.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to say what she would've wanted? You all just go on with your lives like nothing happened. Like she wasn't the only one keeping you all alive for the last five years. Like she wasn't the best fucking mother any of you could ever have asked for. Like-"

"Of course we know that!" Iggy interjected, "Of course we're grateful – if it wasn't for Max-" Iggy froze. Fang froze. The younger kids gasped. Her name wasn't spoken aloud in this broken home. It was whispered in corners with a hitch in the voice, and never, _never_ when Fang could hear.

"Don't say that name." Fang croaked out, sounding choked. But Iggy didn't back down like they had expected. He began again, a slight tremor in his voice, but growing more confident.

"Why, Fang? Why? It's been…It's been almost a year. An entire year. This family is broken. She left a void, but we need to fill it, not split it wider, and skirting around her name? It's like we're making that hole sacred, refusing to even try to heal the wound M-Max left."

"Don't say that name." Fang's voice was stronger now, too, louder.

"Max. Max. Max! MAX! _MAX! __**MA-**_" The blind boy didn't know Fang's fist was coming until it connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.

The older boy turned on his heel then and left the room. He climbed the stairs two at a time, not stopping until he reached Max's room. He slammed the door closed and slumped against it, body convulsing with sobs.

"What am I supposed to do, Max?" He whispered, sinking to the ground, "How am I supposed to live without you? How are any of us?"

**11 months ago:**

John and Dr. Martinez whispered furiously at the front of the conference room, apparently not aware that the kids could hear every word they said.

"-Just because the world is saved doesn't mean the war is over."

"Look, they're not scientists, they're kids. Grieving kids, no less. You can't expect them to-"

"Kids? Look me in the eye and tell me they're anything like the concept of "kids" that you or I have, Val. They went through worse torture than most people go through in a lifetime before the age of 10. They know how to handle and work through pain, and they have too much influence in the world to just sit back now."

She opened and closed her mouth, but couldn't find an answer. "Fine, you can pitch this to them. But if they don't want to do it, don't you _dare_ try to force them." She turned on her heel and went to sit at the back of the room, on the other end of the long conference table. The Flock sat on one side, the climate scientists on the other, and John called everyone's attention to the front.

"You've saved the world once." He told the children, "But the battle isn't over, and in order for it to stay saved, we need your help. You know how devastating the effects of global warming and pollution have been and continue to be. We would love to enlist you, with your celebrity status, as spokespeople for the cause."

"Yeah? What'll we get out of it?" Angel snapped.

"Get?" he stared at her. "You'll _get_ a world that's safe to live in. You'll _get_ to carry on Max's legacy." He turned directly to the boy in black at the head of the line of kids, and said, "I know how you loved this climate science before, how much of an impact it made on you. Don't you want to use your brilliance to help save the world again?"

"I don't want to save a world that doesn't have Maximum Ride in it."

John's throat suddenly felt very dry, and the room seemed uncomfortably stuffy and hot. He'd noticed ever since he first met Fang Ride that the young man had a knack for cutting through the bullshit and etiquette to state the blunt truth, whether or not you wanted to hear it, but it had never before been directed quite so sharply at John, and he didn't have a response.

Dr. Martinez rose. "So this was fun," she said sarcastically, gripping John's hand, "But the kids have spoken and we're not interested. Thank you."

**3 months ago:**

"So, I don't want to bring up a painful topic-"

"Great, then _don't." _Angel snapped at the TV reporter with the pointy red fingernails and the too-blonde hair. Of course, the lady ignored her.

"-But we'd really love some of your opinions on the theories going around about why Maximum Ride committed suici-"

"She _didn't._" This time, four out of five responded together.

"But one of Max's most prominent traits was her clear-headedness in a crisis, so the temporary insanity excuse doesn't hold water-"

"She didn't." Nudge.

"If she ever showed signs of mental illness, that might explain why she killed herself-"

"She didn't." Angel again.

"-Okay, also, some authorities have been arguing that your Flock's relationship with Max was of an unhealthily submissive variety, and that that pressure may have contributed to her sui-"

"She didn-"

"I'll take this one, Nudge," Iggy interrupted, "Here's what you need to understand, Lady. If Maximum Ride told you to jump off a bridge with your wings tucked in, you said "Cannonball or dive?" You didn't reconsider, you didn't count to 3, and you sure as hell didn't spare a thought for the fire-breathing dragon you could see snarling up at you. But that ain't 'cause you were "unhealthily submissive" to her. It ain't 'cause you were blindly loyal to her, though you were. It's because you _knew_ her. Because it's Max. And when Max says go, _it's handled."_

The other four nodded silently. That was exactly right. But then the TV chick had to ruin the moment.

"So she's, like, Olivia Pope, minus the fashion sense and plus wings and an appetite?"

"Yeah." Gazzy said, imitating her voice with precision, "And you're, like, a TV reporter, minus reporter, plus bitch." If Max had been there, she would have yelled "Language" and thumped him on the head, but she wasn't, so they just cut the tape and hurried the kids out of there quickly.

**Present (Day 2 Afternoon):**

The image of the conference room faded and the projector screen changed to a photograph of the Flock, happy, smiling, probably taken about 3 years ago. The narrator of the documentary spoke in a voiceover: "In the past few months, Fang Ride has started the process of moving on, and as a part of that, has changed his stance: he has been taking steps toward working with climatologists to help slow global warm-" Mr. Rogers, the guidance counselor, turned off the projector, and a few hundred freshmen rubbed their eyes and sat up straighter.

"That's all the time we have, guys. I showed you this video today because we've been hearing some very insensitive comments towards both the mutant community as a whole and the Ride family in particular. We want your grade in particular to understand their background and think more about your choice of words. We hope this video will help you to understand and empathize with the Rides, and I don't want to hear about any more cruel treatment, is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Rogers," chorused the students, and he smiled and waved for them to go. Sophie stood up slowly, as if in a trance, letting herself be washed out of the room with the others. "She lied." She whispered to herself, "She lied to me."

**Max POV:**

I'm on the phone as I walk to my second to last class when suddenly my arm is yanked from behind. Self-defense instincts going into overdrive, I spin towards the person, grabbing their hands and slamming them against the wall of lockers, at the same time bringing up my knee to slam them in the gut. I am a millimeter from knocking the wind out of her when I finally glance up at her face and realize…

"Sophie," I groan, shaking my head and releasing her. "_Never _try to surprise me. You're lucky my reflexes are shot to hell; if you'd tried that two years ago I would have killed you first, asked questions later." I mutter to the woman on the phone that I'll call her back and then hang up, shoving my phone in my pocket.

"You lied to me." She doesn't even seem concerned about the fact that I almost knocked her out, just in shock. "I can't believe it. You lied to me."

I snort. "I do that a lot. You'll have to be more specific."

She glances around at the hordes of people passing us by, then grabs my arm and yanks me into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door behind us.

She turns to face me again, and says quietly but assuredly, "Fang Ride didn't rape you."

"_WHAT?!" _

"I said: You lied. Fang…Ride…didn't…rape…you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know rapists. More than one of them. I know how they think about their victims, and how they lie, and the little tics that give them away, and that boy I just watched on screen for two hours? He's desperately in love with you. He couldn't rape you if his life depended on it."

My mouth hangs open. Finally, I whisper, "Soph, I _never_ said Fang raped me."

"What?" She demanded, "You said he…wait…but…oh." She rubbed her head and turned away from me, pacing back and forth across the room, "You said…you were raped. And I'd already known you'd committed suicide, but you weren't really dead, and I didn't understand why you would have faked your own suicide, but then it made sense, because he raped you, so you were getting away from him…" I watch her quietly, impassively.

"So…he didn't?"

"No."

"And you never said he did?"

"No."

"But…you knew…you knew what I would think. You let me believe he did."

"I…kind of, yeah. It was easier."

Her jaw drops. "It was _easier?! _You let me believe the love of your life was a rapist who you had to pretend to _commit suicide_ to get away from because it was…_easier?"_

"Gold star, you can summarize. Now if you don't mind very much, I've got a class to get to." I turn on my heel and leave the room, ignoring her yells of protest and leaving her to follow behind me as she may. I hadn't exactly _known_ that was what she thought, but…I guessed, and maybe I didn't do enough about it. But I'm pulled from my self-condemnation when my phone rings again, and I pull it out, then glance down at the name. Her again.

I answer and press the phone to my ear, drawling, "Impatient, are we?" In the most bored tone I can manage.

"_You_ called _me_. I don't even know your name, yet you seem to know much, much more about my life than I ever shared with…hell, with anyone. So then you threaten to kill…someone, while still on the phone with me, and then hang up, without ever giving me a goddamn explanation. So yeah, I'm impatient. Who are you, and what do you want?"

"So you did sell-"

"_No! _I told you, you've got the wrong woman!"

"Right. That's why you called me back within five minutes, to tell me I was wrong," I say sarcastically, ignoring her irritated huff. "Look, I wouldn't be contacting you if I didn't think you would talk to me-"

"Well, then you've got another think coming-"

"-and as it happens, I _know_ you will. Because," I look down at the file I pulled out of my backpack, marked with the red 'TOP SECRET' stamp. I leaf through the pages; a picture of Fang, a copy of his birth certificate, of the check, an address for a whorehouse, and a name: 'Lucinda Jizzmouth'. Cringeworthy. And in parentheses beneath that, 'Previously Elizabeth Taylor'. "I have information you want, Liz. Interested in meeting your son?"

**A/N: So, hopefully that wasn't too confusing. The scenes at the beginning were all real, but they were shown in the documentary that Sophie watched as well-let me know if that didn't make sense. I'll try to post the next chapter by next Friday. Review?**


	8. Mothers

**(A/N: Happy holidays! Sorry I didn't get this out sooner, I blame exams and then...laziness. Anyway, happy vibes to Montana89, cuz I got up on Christmas morning and checked my phone (cause I'm completely addicted to technology) and I totally wasn't expecting any reviews because I haven't updated in FOREVER, but your review made me so happy, and it was like a little Christmas present!:)**

**Anyway, here 'tis.**

**Day 2 (later the same afternoon):**

"So, you're Liz Taylor? Huh. I thought you'd be…taller." The woman standing in front of me can't be more than 5 foot 1. Even given her stiletto heels and my ratty sneakers, I tower over her, and it's hard to believe she and Fang are related, genetic mutation and all. Especially given the bubble-gum pink sequined crop top and ripped jean mini-shorts, more suitable for a fifteen-year-old at a One Direction concert than a grown woman.

I've never really spent much (okay, any) time thinking about prostitute clothing, but looking at her now, I realize how depressing it really is. She is an adult woman trapped by men's disgusting fetish for "purity" in the clothes and mannerisms of a girl Nudge's age. Well, not Nudge's age anymore, I have to remind myself, but 11 or 12, barely starting puberty. A "tween". Every part of her presentation, even her squeaky, girlish voice, is tuned towards infantilizing and sexualizing her at the same time.

We're in a room right off the entrance hall of our small apartment which I've commandeered as my study, facing each other at the bare, puritanical wooden desk, neither wanting to sit down in fear of losing power in this strange, tense interaction.

When I learned that my grade was also going to have to spend the last two periods of the day watching the movie Sophie had seen, I ditched without a backward glance. I have much better things to do with my time than sob uncontrollably in front of hundreds of judge-y teenagers.

Like, apparently, be a judge-y teenager watching an adult woman sob uncontrollably. This is why they pay me the big bucks.

To be fair, she's not so much sobbing as sniffling, but it's just as uncomfortable nonetheless, because with every fiber of my body, I want to hate this woman, and yet the pure joy, the anxiety, the odd mix of defiance and gratefulness directed at me for finding her long lost son and telling her, but still not identifying him; they all read genuine. For the last seven years, my life and death has depended on my ability to read people, and I truly believe that Elizabeth Taylor loves her son and that she will love him even when she finds out who-and what-he is.

And yet.

She sold him. She is the reason there are wings grafted onto his back.

I found her for him; for the hope in his eyes when we found the 'parents' file so many years ago, for the pain when his weren't there, for the bittersweet as we fell in love, because, let's face it, the girl telling you to eat your broccoli has a lot less street cred as a mom if you just finished feeling her up.

Yet it's for him that I'm holding back, too, because I know better than anyone what it's like to build someone up in your mind as the ideal specimen of humanity and then have them turn out to be, well, an asshole. Just so we're clear, Jeb, I'm looking at you.

So I nod to Elizabeth Taylor to sit down from behind my black mask, and then sit down across the table from her, hands laced together under the table, pinkies twisting, as is my nervous habit.

There are a thousand questions running through my mind. _Did you want to abort him? Did you want to sell him? Did you want to _keep_ him? What did you buy with their money? What could you _possibly_ have been paying for that was worth more than a human life? _

"Did you name him?" I blurt instead.

"Jonah," she whispers instantly, and she doesn't have to think about it. And that's when I know, that however much I might hate her, this woman who has held the name of her discarded child on the tip of her tongue for 17 years deserves, at least, to see him once before she dies.

So even though she is stammering out more words, trying to tell me her story, trying to _explain away the guilt, _I interrupt her, ready to tell the story. "He's in high school. A junior. He has…not exactly an adopted, but a makeshift family. He lives at 254 Culverton Lane, here in Tucson."

She makes a noise of confusion, apparently recognizing the address.

"He has wings. And his name is Fang Ride." She takes a breathy, hissing gasp of air, then another and another.

"Is this a joke?" she finally manages to ask, and I shake my head. _Don't I wish._

She takes a few deep, calming breaths and then a blank mask falls over her features, blocking me out of her thoughts, and for the first time, I see him in something other than her black eyes and her dark roots, not yet bleached blond like the rest of her hair. And it hurts like hell.

Eventually she asks calmly, "And you know my son because?"

"You gave up your right to that answer the day you gave up your son."

She's pissed. She thinks she isn't showing it, but she has his exact same tells.

"And when he asks how I found him?" she demands with false calm.

"You _lie._ You've been lying about the existence of a human being for 17 years, haven't you? I think you can come up with something."

"And if I don't want to? If I give him your address?"

"Oh, I wouldn't. It probably wouldn't end well for you." I slide the envelope with his address and phone number across the table to her. "I have to go now, but if you have any questions, feel free to call me before contacting him." I really do need to leave because I have to pick up Candy and Cap at 4 before anyone realizes I was gone, but instead I hesitate, letting my uncertainty show a little for the first time during this interview. "I…I want this to go well just as much as you do. And if you hurt him…just…don't."

"I won't."

"You'd better not. You don't want to cross me. "

"Yeah. Terrifying," she snorts, looking over the preppy clothes I never had a chance to change out of with a curled lip, and I narrow my eyes.

"Darling," I say sarcastically, "I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream."_ That's right, I just played the Taylor Swift card. Consider yourself out-tweened._

And with that little…display…I step to the door, motion to her to leave, then follow her out, locking the door to the apartment carefully and walking confidently, purposefully to the stairs, making sure to stay a step in front of her.

* * *

By the time Jose, Ramon and Sophie exit the building, I'm leaning casually against the car, watching Candy interrogate Cap about his crush on a second grader.

"Is it true love?" she asks around the lollipop that she had gotten by very questionable manipulation of her teacher.

"Definitely. She gave me five whole licks out of her pudding pack."

"Woah! They only have nine licks. She gave you more than half!"

"Yeah," he puts his hand on her shoulder and says solemnly, "Trust me. When you find the one, you'll just know." His sister nods, open-mouthed, and I have to stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing.

"Hey, Mags!" Ramon calls, "Where were you during the movie? We could have used your wisecracks." Jose gives me a long-suffering look that clearly says,_ or your ability to SHUT HIM UP._

I cock an eyebrow and grin. "I was there the whole time, Einstein; I just ditched your sorry ass for my cooler friends."

Jose gasped exaggeratedly, "You have friends?" so I swat him with my textbook. See, I am awesome at this cover-up stuff, I even lugged my twenty-pound backpack back to school with me to look like I'd been here this whole time.

Ramon shakes his head though, still not fully convinced, and mutters, "I normally have a pretty good radar for you, and I did _not _see you there."

"A _radar_ for me? That's not creepy at all." I say sarcastically, and he blushes. I'm a little weirded out, but at least he now seems to have forgotten that he thought I had skipped. Boys, amirite?

* * *

An hour later, I've set up Candy and Cap in one corner of the living room with a jigsaw puzzle and a bowl of chips, and Ramon and Jose do their math homework on the couch as I sit next to Sophie, rubbing her shoulders gently to calm her down as she practically hyperventilates over an essay.

Finally she slams her pen down on the table in exasperation and turns to glare at me. "I didn't read _Catcher in the Rye_! I don't know what the whore 'represents in Holden's world' or whether 'his ennui is a symptom of his time-period or his age' or, God, 'how important sex is to him'-"

"I can answer that one." Ramon called over, "He is a teenage boy. Therefore sex is literally the only thing he thinks about. Ever. If a scientist dissected Holden Cockfield's brain-"

"I'm pretty sure it's Caulfield."

"Holden Caulfield, Holden Cockfield, tomato, tomahto."

"Rambo Martinez, Rambo Mar-penis, potato, potahto." I respond, and Sophie giggles.

Ramon goes red for the third time today. "Shut up!"

"Marpenis, go make dinner," Jose calls, and Rambo dives at him, fists up, but I grab his arm and wrench him backward before he can inflict any damage.

"Seriously. Make food." I order.

"Ya gonna make me?"

"Well, no, but if you don't do it, I will, and –"

"Alright, I'll do it!" He exclaims hurriedly, "You're not coming _near_ my kitchen."

He leaps up and Jose and Sophie go back to their homework. A minute later, I see Jose lean surreptitiously towards Ramon's book, so I kick him and raise an eyebrow, mouthing, 'Cheating, are we?'.

Jose just looks at me, unabashed, and begins, "Why is his book different from mine—"

"Shh!" I say sharply, jerking my head toward the open kitchen door. I stand up and walk to the door of the apartment, gesturing for Jose to follow me.

"You can't tell Ramon, he'd flip a shit," I whisper, "but you know he's got dyslexia and ADHD, but he won't admit it. Well, I talked to the teachers and got him accommodations for it without him knowing – he hates feeling weak, you know that."

"Wow, that's…sweet," Jose says, taken aback, a small smile crawling across his face, "I wouldn't have thought of that. You know, you do a better job of this mom thing than we give you credit for."

I smile tightly. "Thanks."

* * *

**Day 3 (Thursday):**

As we walk into school the next morning, only semi-permanently scarred by the fact that my bad driving almost crashed us into an enormous balloon factory, a voice I don't recognize calls out my name and I turn. It's a guy, and though I wouldn't have called him particularly attractive, he carries himself with the easy, swaggering confidence of someone who's fairly sure he's the greatest thing the human race has created since the wheel.

"Your legs are like an Oreo cookie," He informs me.

"Excuse you?"

"I wanna split them and eat all the good stuff inside."

I choke on my own spit for a second before calming down enough to put a comeback together. I step closer to him, widen my eyes, and whisper seductively, "Your mouth is like a two week old egg…"

"How's that?"

"Well, you can already tell it's gonna be rotten by the smell, and then it opens and a load of disgusting crap comes out," I say matter-of-factly, and then I turn on my heel and go to class. I'd like to say that was the first or the last time I've been hit on so incredibly rudely at this school, but unfortunately, I cannot tell a lie.

Well, I can. Obviously. My life is a lie.

But not about this.

* * *

"Hey babe, you coming to the party at Ratchet's tomorrow?"

"Sorry, I'm not allowed out after 10 on weeknights. My mom's rule." After the asshole this morning, I made a bet with Sophie that I wouldn't be a smart-aleck to anyone for the entire rest of the day, even sexist pigs. It's only lunchtime, and I'm already about to burst.

He stares at me. "But it's Friday."

I shrug, helplessly, and grit my teeth as I say, "Look, I didn't make the rule."

"Oh. OK," he slinks away. Ramon looks pleased, which is odd, because I know he loves parties, but I don't have much time to think on it, because Sophie starts whining.

"C'mon, Max, _whyyyyyy_ did you have to say no? It's a senior party, do you have any idea how totally sweet that would be? C'mon, pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top? I've never been to a high school party and they're supposed to be so _awesome_! Pleeeeeeeeeea-"

"No. I _hate_ parties."

Jose smirks, amused, and says, "If I ask why, will I regret it?"

"Parties always have beer and drugs and other crazy shit that make people do very, very stupid, usually dangerous, pretty much always illegal things." I say in a superior tone, calibrated solely to irritate him.

"That is BS and you know it! Plenty of parties don't even have alcohol."

"What kind of lame-ass party has no alcohol?!" I demand, grinning.

"And that, folks, is why we don't let Maggie participate in logic competitions," Jose says with a smirk, bumping my shoulder.

A few minutes later, I notice the same guy asking a younger black girl at the table next to ours, the Popular table, to the same party. Pathetic.

The girl, who looks really familiar for some reason, turned toward him with a flirty smile and says, "OMG, that sounds great! Do you really want me to come with you? But I'm a freshman and you're a senior, and-"

"I'm inviting you." The guy snapped, "So yes or no?"

"Definitely, definitely yes!" the girl squealed, and that's when I got it. It was Nudge. _Shit._ I'd seen that guy around, he was bad news. And besides, Nudge shouldn't be going to a senior party anyway. I turned to look at Sophie, Jose, and Ramon.

"Alright, people, we're going to that party."

Their mouths drop open, but I'm already walking away toward the jock table. Having no clue where this Rocky guy lives and knowing next to no one here, I'm going to need a date. I size them up and pick one who looks (a) dumb, and (b) unattractive enough to probably not have a girlfriend. Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I slide smoothly into the seat beside him.

"So, I hear there's a party tonight…" I say to the guy, who's staring at me like Christmas had come early. Like I was a gift - a toy. Sexist pig.

"Uh, y-yeah," he mumbles, still apparently unable to believe I'm talking to him instead of his much hotter friends (Fang is at the end of the table, so I'm with him there), "Do you, uh, do you-want to, uh-"

"That depends," I say seductively, "Is your _backseat_ big enough for two?" A bunch of the other guys' heads whip up at that, and they start whooping and whistling, but my guy, still stunned by his luck, yells over them, "Hell, yes!"

"Good," I purr, "pick us up at eight." The bell rings then, and he walk away.

Ramon glares at me, and as soon as the guy is out of earshot, he hisses, "Are you really that trashy?"

I laugh. "God, no. Just needed to make sure my, uh, 'cousins' could hitch a ride in his backseat." The entire table, hearing us, bursts out laughing.

Super loyal friends, guys. Seriously.

Sophie and Jose crack up too, and then Sophie's grin splits even wider.

"I win!" She yells. Crap.

**(A/N: Merry Christmas, happy Hannukah, whatever you celebrate...hope it was fun! This is kinda fluffy, but we're getting to the good stuff. My next chapter is almost finished too, so I'll try to update by New Year's Day. We'll see how that goes-deadlines are clearly not my strongsuit.)**


	9. Coward's Games

**A/N: Happy New Year!**

**Gothazon: Haha, good! That's exactly what I wanted here. I was hoping that chapter would make you laugh, 'cause this one's a lot darker.**

**Montana89: You're awesome, girl, your reviews always make my day. I'm so glad you liked it, I kinda couldn't resist that Taylor Swift thing;) and let me know if you remember!**

**FaxFiction: I'm glad you still got a feel for her, Max herself was always my favorite part of the original series, even over Fang, so I'm working really hard on her character development. Hopefully this is what you were looking for with Fang, though no resolution yet-Max still has a little while to go with figuring herself out before she can give up her secrets.**

**heartofglass99: Excellent! Glad you liked it, and shout-out to you for reviewing practically every chapter. You're awesome!**

**Night: You are perceptive, and she will...kinda. It's not actually Dylan, though excellent guess...It's a little more fucked up than that.**

**Chocolate Wings: Yay, that's what I'm going for! Someday, all will be revealed (I can't promise a happy ending, but I can promise a confrontation), but be patient, we've got a little while to go.**

**Maximumridelover: Thanks, I will! I'm so glad you liked it!**

**TheOneRenegade: Awesome, that's exactly what I want to hear. I'm working really hard to make them real people, not just foils and tools to move the plot along and I'm glad you think it's working!**

**Warning for this chapter: There is a tiny bit of pot use in this chapter and more in the next. I'm not supporting underage drug use, nor am I espousing Max's extremely aggressively anti-drug attitude, it's just that Max has always seemed to me like the type of control freak who would be super anti-drugs or alcohol of any kind, at least for her family. **

**Wow, that was long. Anyway...here goes:**

**Day 3: **

The rest of the day goes by quickly. In PE, we do yoga, which doesn't really seem like it would be our tough-guy coach's strong suit, and, surprise, surprise, it isn't. At the beginning of the class, he attempts to demonstrate the splits for us all and manages to get himself stuck. The rest of the class is spent by the students watching in horror as he attempts to maneuver his legs together without ripping his own balls out of their sockets.

Do balls have sockets? I know they have sacs…

These are the kind of questions I never had any desire to ask until I ended up in gym with this Chuck Norris Wannabe. They are also the kind of questions that keep me occupied and prevent me from looking at Fang more than once.

Or twice.

A minute.

All class.

* * *

On the way home from school, I drive the Jeep with Sophie in the passenger seat and the twins conked out in the back. Rambo and Jose are crammed in Ramon's VW bug because they're going to the library for some indeterminate research project.

I focus solely on the car as I shift into third gear (that's right, people, this ancient, shitty-ass hunk of metal is a _stick shift_. Can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that I'm not even legally permitted to drive an automatic? I refuse to acknowledge any responsibility whatsoever for the three red lights I may or may not have run this morning), and I ignore Sophie's mindless prattle. That is, I ignore her until she pauses her interminable monologue and says, out of nowhere, "I have a theory. About why you faked your own suicide."

"A_ theory?_" I snap, not yet ready to correct her assumption that the suicide was faked. "Like your _theory _that Fang was a rapist? Forgive me if I'm not exactly holding my breath to hear it, Dr. Phil."

"I think you were sick of being perfect."

I glance over at her sharply, but she's not joking, she's completely genuine. I snort and say sarcastically, "Yeah, seriously, why do I have to be so great? And this whole "having friends" shebang? So last year. I mean-"

"Stop, I'm serious!" she interrupts, "If that video is true, the Flock completely idolized you-all of them, even Fang. And in your books, you were always saying how he was the only one you could admit insecurities to, but to hear him talk about you afterward, it hardly feels like he knew anything about you. And you couldn't live up to their expectations-no one could-but you were too afraid to let them down."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." _No, it's not. _"Besides, everyone lies to make dead people sound better."

Maybe I say it too quickly, because her eyes narrow, and she says, "You can talk to me, you know. You can trust me."

_No, I can't. If I couldn't trust him, then I can't trust anyone._

"I get that you needed to leave. You're tough, but you're not invincible, and every superhero needs a sidekick they can tell their problems to," She continues.

"What kind of 'problems' do you imagine I had?" I demand as I pull into a spot a block down from our apartment building. She looks me straight in the eyes, and I find myself powerless to turn away.

"I don't know, Max, but they were big enough to make you think _dying_ was the only answer."

_It was._

When she realizes I'm not going to answer, she huffs and turns around to awaken and unbuckle the twins, only to scream in terror. I whip around to see two empty car-seats and Sophie staring at them in shock.

"I know you're a bad driver, Max, but how did you _lose two kids?_"

"They're not lost," I say with a grin and an eye-roll, "Didn't you know? They're part chameleon, they can blend in with the background when they want to. Apparently they weren't as asleep as we thought. Guys," I say sternly, turning back to face the kids as they slowly fade back into view, "It's not OK to play hiding games that will upset the people we love."

Cap nods, looking suitably abashed, but Candy looks me straight in the eye and says calmly, "But Mommy, isn't that what you're doing?"

* * *

**Day 4 (Friday): **

You know how I said the schedule was different every other day? No? Well, that's OK, I forgot about it too. Or at least, I forgot about it until, midway through the afternoon, I realize that having skipped these periods two days ago, I have absolutely no clue how to get to my next class, or even where it is.

Which is why I am nose-deep in my map (this school is an effing labyrinth, I tell you) when I walk into public speaking class for the first time, look up, and find myself staring at a shock of strawberry blond hair that I would recognize anywhere. My eyes widen in horror, and I snap my gaze away, as though Blind Iggy will be less likely to notice me if I don't look at him. Doh.

Unfortunately, that whole gaze-snapping shebang only turns my line of sight to his left, where Fang is sitting.

What a jolly fucking surprise. The three musketeers, together again.

Iggy alone, I could handle. Fang alone…well, we're in PE, and I haven't yet burst into tears and announced my identity to the world, so I'd probably be OK on that score.

But both of them together? My body feels like someone put my heart, lungs, and stomach in a blender and set it to liquidize.

I sit down in an empty chair two rows in front of them and slump as far as possible, eternally grateful when the teacher passes right over me, failing to notice the new kid.

Throughout class, I can't stop glancing at Fang, though I know I can never have him. Though I'm only hurting myself and, if he ever caught me, maybe even him too, my eyes are drawn to him like moths to a lamp.

The way he moves, sits, and, on the few occasions when the Rock opens his mouth, speaks all remind me of why I love him, need him so desperately. It's only been three days, yet I'm already addicted to him again.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he bends down to grab some things out of his bag. A piece of paper. A lighter? And a plastic baggie full of something green-oh, God!

Oh. My. God.

There is no way in hell that is what I think it is. I swing to face the front, refusing to look at him. There's no way. I just have that on the brain because of the stupid dealers. But I have to know. I swing back around in my seat, unabashedly staring this time, and it's really true. The brilliant, strong love of my life just rolled a joint and is now smoking it.

IN THE MIDDLE OF A FREAKING CLASS! I whirl around to stare at the teacher, whose jaw tightens as she glances at Fang, but he says nothing. Before I know it, I'm on my feet.

"Excuse me, but WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? Are we all just gonna pretend there's not a teenager sitting in this room smoking pot? What kind of school is this?" I snarl. I'm screaming, I'm practically hysterical, but I can't bring myself to care.

Everyone looks uncomfortable, except for Sophie, who just looks jealous of Fang's joint. Of course. The teacher mumbles something about "special circumstances." Unbe-fucking-lievable.

I spin to face the back of the room and march up to him until my face is pure inches from his. I grab the joint from his hand, rub it out, and shove it in the trash can beside me. He looks utterly unperturbed, though knowing him as I do, I can detect the shock in the slightly raised eyebrows, the crinkled outer eyes, the lowered chin.

"My dad studies birds," I snarl, and he looks even more taken aback. Obviously not what he expected to come out of my mouth. "More specifically, the effect of smoke inhalation on birds.

"You know what happens when birds are in a fire? The smoke comes into their lungs, then through their bloodstream. It gets carried into their hollow bones, where the toxins destroy their bone marrow.

"You smoke 2, 3 of those a week? Dead in a month, tops, bird brain." That was completely and utterly made up, but judging by the horrified gasps, the class believed it. I mentally pat myself on the back for some Class-A Bullshit.

Fang leans in even closer, and whispers mockingly, "Well, _sweetheart,_ what if I want to die?"

I'm shocked. I'm horrified. I'm disgusted by the smell of pot. And it's all I can do not to wrap my arms around his neck and close the six inches separating our lips with a kiss. But instead I say, mocking him, "Well, _sweetheart_, judging by the back of your neck, you'll get your wish sooner than you think."

Finally, I get a reaction. He goes ashen instantly, his eyes showing fear for the first time. He whips around to show Iggy, who is sitting next to him, his neck. Iggy runs a hand over it, his sensitive fingers feeling for a tattoo, but there's nothing there.

"You're clear." He snaps, and they both turn to glare at me.

"How dare you?" Fang growls, "That's not funny to us."

"Well," I respond, "now that you know how important life is to you, maybe you'll think twice before throwing it away." And I walk back up to the front, silently thanking God.

* * *

The instant we get home from school begins the part of the party I didn't bargain on: getting ready. I was under the impression you just kinda showed up, wearing whatever, but when I express this view to Sophie on the drive home, the poor girl very nearly faints.

"Maggie, are you out of your mind?" She squeals in horror, "You have to wear make-up and let me do your hair and at least put on a nice skirt. I mean, you're going as someone's date, even if you don't really like him. It's, like, the _law._"

I don't even have to defend myself, however, because Ramon butts in from the backseat, "I really don't see why you have to go as his date at all. You don't even know him. I mean, are you not woman enough to go to a freaking _high school party _on your own?"

"I busted all your sorry asses into shape, I think I could manage going to a high school party." I say defensively, irritated, "But let me remind you we've never met this Rocky guy and we don't know where his house is. We need a ride and a ticket in." Ramon huffs in annoyance, but seems to understand my point, at least.

When we get home, Sophie wheedles, bribes and threatens me alternately with no success whatsoever in the hair and make-up department, but does successfully convince me to change into a pair of pants that don't have a giant ketchup stain on the front. She then maneuvers me to the bathroom mirror and stands behind me, tutting like a disapproving mother and waving various sinister looking brushes and powders, trying to convince me to let her touch me with them.

She fails. Duh.

However, I do find myself studying my reflection, surprised by what I find in a mirror that I don't normally look at for more than four seconds. I really only have three criteria for outfits I can go out in public while wearing; (1) my wings and hands are hidden, (2) there's nothing (large) stuck in my teeth, and (3) there's nothing living in my hair. None of that examination takes more than a cursory check, so I've barely looked in the mirror for a long time.

I see myself now from the outside, and I'm shocked by how much I've changed in two years. Even ignoring the wig and colored contacts, the scars, the months of torture, the loss of any innocence I had left; they've all taken their toll. I don't blame Fang for not recognizing me: I can barely recognize myself.

* * *

The jock guy drives us, as promised, all four of us able to go to the party because Sophie found a freshman who was willing to watch the kids for a few hours. At first, I feel a little bad about using the kid whose name I can't even remember for a ride, but when he spends every stop sign and red light gawking at my chest, I suddenly feel much better about abandoning him. Funny how that works, huh?

When we get to the party, the front door is surrounding by a welcome committee of good-natured drunks; idiots, but harmless ones. While Jose and Ramon are joking around with them slip past them into the house, where a hallway that appears to lead intot he main room is lined with people making out.

It doesn't take long to spot Nudge. She's pressed up against the wall by a guy who has his hands against the wall above her head like people do in the movies. She's trying to look casual and like she welcomes his advances, but I can tell it's forced. She's gripping the cup of beer in her hand like a lifeline, and suddenly I can't take it anymore.

I march up to them, duck my head under his arms, facing him, and plonk my arms on his shoulders, extended like his, like we're in a rugby scrum.

"Alright, I'm ready to play! Gotta warn ya, though, I don't know the rules to rugby." Sophie snorts behind me.

When he recovers what limited faculties he had, the guy demands, "Are you cock-blocking me, bitch?"

I open my eyes wide. "OMG, you have a cock?" I shake my head. "OK, I did _not _get that."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again and croaks slightly, apparently speechless, then backs up a few steps, turns, and leaves in embarrassment, tail between his legs. Nudge just stares at me in shock, and I throw her a quick smile before grabbing Sophie's wrist and walking down the hallway, until Nudge calls out to me from behind.

"Hey! Who do you think you are?" I pause mid-step, and she continues, "I didn't ask you to interfere. I didn't want your help! I don't need you, or anyone!" I bite the inside of my lip, but continue walking. Nothing can be gained by taking the bait. _You'll thank me one day, sweetheart. _I hope.

My faith in my decision is restored, though, at least a little bit, when Sophie turns to me, deadly serious, and says, "Be my mom."

"Uh, thanks, I guess…" I say.

"That's not a compliment, it's an order. Go back in time, hop the border to Mexico, get high on heroin, cocaine, and whatever other shit, fuck with my dad, and then…do _that_ for me for 15 years."

I'm left speechless partially by Sophie's demand and partially by my claustrophobia, which hadn't been a problem while I was focusing on Nudge, but which is coming back in full force now that my mama bear instincts have died out and I'm in the middle of a room full to bursting with drunken, gyrating bodies. As I'm trying to get my nerves under control, though, a small, wispy-looking brunette I don't recognize runs up to us and grabs my sleeve.

"You're Maggie Rex, right?" she asks urgently, and I nod. "I'm Lacey. We need your help. There's something going on upstairs…no one wants to interfere…please, just come!" Sharing a baffled glance with Sophie, I nod again and follow her to the hall, then through a door and up two flights of stairs, to the third floor where the party doesn't seem to have stretched. There's a closed door at the end of this hallway, around which a few kids, maybe sophomores or juniors, are crowded, listening. They all look terrified.

"What the hell is going on?" I demand, when not one of the kids, including stuttering little Lacey, explains why I'm here or what's behind the door.

They all stare at me, wide-eyed, and slowly move away from the door to leave room for me. "We heard — it's — just l-look in the keyhole," Lacey whispers, and though I don't normally take orders from anyone, the desperation in her voice freaks me out just enough that I bend and put my eye to the door.

The room inside looks like a bedroom, with four boys sitting in a small circle on the floor at the foot of the bed. Nothing seems all that out of place at first glance, but I squint a little closer at the boys' faces and discover a couple alarming things.

The first thing I notice is Fang, sitting in the circle with other kids I don't recognize.

The second thing is the gun he's pointing at his own head.

Without pausing for an instant, I blindly fumble for the handle and slam the door open so forcefully that it slams into the wall and bounces back towards me. All four faces turn towards me in shock and disbelief.

"What the _fuck_ do you people think you're doing?" I hiss, voice dangerously quiet, staring straight at Fang. In three strides, I've reached him, and I yank the lowered gun out of his now-limp hand. It's a hand-pistol, small and light, but just as deadly as any other. Disbelievingly, I examine the barrel of the gun, hoping wildly that maybe it's empty, maybe this is all just some sick joke.

Ten slots in the cylinder.

1 bullet.

This isn't a suicide pact. It's Russian Roulette.

I don't know what to feel. I don't know whether to be relieved or furious or confused or desperately sad. But I know exactly what to do to get through to him, so I shut down my emotions and just do what I have to do. Still standing above the circle of boys, I reach into the purse Sophie made me bring "for emergencies" and pull out the case of bullets I kept there just in case (probably not for the same kind of emergency she was imagining). I pop out nine of the twenty bullets and press one into each empty slot in the cylinder, making sure the boys see me fill the gun. They're not exactly the right bullet type, but they'll fit in the barrel and that's all I need.

For the sake of the show, I spin the cylinder, the way you're supposed to.

Finally, I kneel next to Fang and place the loaded gun in the center of the circle, on the floor. "Russian Roulette is a coward's game. Suicide, now that's _real_.So go ahead, I dare you. Pick up the gun, any of you. Pick it up and shoot."

No one moves, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"That's what I thought. You don't really want to die, you just think you do. But you tell yourself there's only one bullet in that gun, and if Fate or God or whoever the fuck you like decides to shoot you with it, well, that's their prerogative."

Finally I turn and look at Fang directly, though he's still staring at the gun, refusing to meet my gaze. "You know, Ride, I thought I got through to you this morning, but apparently not, so let me spell it out for you. You. Don't. Want. To. Die. You've proven that twice over today. Your life ain't rainbows and ponies, but whose is? We've all got our problems, but none of them are worth _dying_ for."

Something changes then. He still doesn't look at me, just stares at the gun, but when he starts to whisper, his voice isn't closed off and cruel, it's desperate. "_She_ thought they were."

I freeze, my mouth dry. I look away from him, following his gaze toward the gun, as if it has the answers we're looking for.

"Well," I say quietly, "Maybe she had a different kind of problem." It's the first time, I realize with a start, that I've admitted out loud that my 'death' was anything more than an accident, and to perhaps the worst possible person I could have told. But I never have really been able to lie to him.

"Do you know something about her?" It's not Fang who speaks, it's another one of the boys in the circle, the ones I had completely forgotten about, and both my and Fang's heads jerk towards him in surprise.

"Of course not," I say disdainfully, "How could I?" It's much easier to lie to him. I snatch the gun from the center of the circle, and stand, dusting off my knees, then turn on my heel and walk, posture too erect, to the door where Sophie and the other kids are staring in awe and fear. I ignore them all and keep walking, shoving the gun into my pocket, down the stairs, back to the party.

I hear Sophie pattering up behind me, and then she whispers in my ear, "Max, are you OK? Do you want to talk about it?"

I turn to her, jaw quivering with fury. I know it's misplaced; I'm not angry at her, I'm angry at him, and mostly at myself for making him want to do what he did. But I don't care anymore, so I snarl, "Go _home,_ Sophie. Take your brother and Ramon and go the_ fuck _home." I regret the words the instant they've left my mouth as her face crumples and she turns away, but they're out there, and they're what I want, and I don't take them back.

"Y-you're not coming?" she stammers, and I shake my head. When I speak this time, I try to be a little gentler.

"I need to…keep an eye on things here. Make sure Nudge is OK." _Yeah, and stop Fang from killing himself_.

She nods uncertainly. "OK, we'll, uh, get a cab, I guess." I nod and turn away, heading back downstairs into the throng of the party.

As I'm working my way around the edge of the crowd, trying to spot Nudge, hoping she's just gone home, a girl comes up to me holding a Tupperware. I recognize her vaguely as one of the preppy friends Sophie made the first couple days who wanted nothing to do with us after my debacle with the Spanish teacher. However, she seems to be drunk enough to have forgotten to hate me, which is good, because I do not have the energy for a fight right now.

"Want a brownie?" She slurs, holding up the Tupperware and pulling off the lid to reveal a pile of delicious-looking baked goods. There's something weird about the way she's smiling, but I put it down to drunkenness. I was never one to pass up chocolate, so I grin and grab a brownie, popping it in my mouth whole.

The girl watches me chew and swallow, and then her face breaks out into a wide, drunken grin. "Welcome to the dark side."

**A/N: Oh Max, haven't you ever seen **_**Perks of Being a Wallflower**_**? Next chapter will be fun to write. And, if I'm feeling charitable, it may even have some FAX****. Review?**

**PS. If anyone noticed the HP joke, you are my hero.**


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